In New York, a strange
euphoria
Captures the city in late
December.
What is this metamorphoses?
I think it's hope.
The metropolis, always so cool,
so cynical,
Wears a different mask for Christmas.
Suspended is the certainty
That all is, inevitably, corrupt
A new-born seen as limitless,
Capable of the
extraordinary,
Unfettered from gravity,
Allows those near to imagine the
impossible
I am not immune to the small
gift,
Of a stranger’s passing greetings,
A seat left open for the old
guy,
Even as the train fills to
capacity.
Not quite the morphine
Dispersion of all matter,
Rather the easing of a foot
Stamped down on the gas peddle.
For these few days I loosen the
knot,
Let the other car pass,
Feel a little better about myself
Open my eyes, smile, and exhale.
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