After Marie Howe’s “The Moment”
On the subway wall, her poem. The coming-out-of-nowhere moment. The white cotton curtains hanging still. I pause in the bustle with her. Remember my house. My own still curtains.
from a stranger’s earbuds curious rhythms of the city
Later I walk along the dark river. Look forward to my return to the Pennsylvania countryside. Yet I am here. Nothing happening in this moment. Maybe half a moment.
triboro bridge all the stars in the sky in the water