Downtown on the Hudson

Waves of gray and greased black. Frozen fingertips and Jacques Brell. Even the clouds sputter across the sky in silent coughs, streaked with the yellow of light. Complexions are softly washed and the boats strike the sky with their puzzle-piece counterparts. (My hands colored with faded blood) And ripples of light quiver in the water below.

I lean my head against the iced rail, thick with layers of white paint and a ribbon of dust slashes the sky in two. (Suzanne). The spindles of the Brooklyn Bridge promise to sing like a harp against the gentle cries of these painted birds.

I, in gray too (and denim), grow twisted and cold, but the shuddering wind pleases me. (He himself was broken long before the sky would open).

And all I feel is peace, peace, peace. As if this is after the end and we, on the boat, are waiting to be carried to what's next. But I know what's next... it is only this.

Pink and gray pale faces. No time and no knowledge of anything except the bite of the wind and the ribbons in the sky... I will never understand the size of the sky and will never cease to be grateful for that infinite gulf that it makes me feel-- between my heart and the rest of my body.

And I try to drown out the drone of our tour guide, an irritant so recently added. But I think that I will close now to fall into this sleep and to press my face into the green and gray below.

*******************************

Later and in the subway--

Okay, that was really weird. I just got interrupted (now I'm on the 2/3 at Times Square). Anyway, when I walked into the subway at Wall Street, I was listening to Les Mis in French and singing to "On My Own" and I passed these two black guys. Anyway, one of them said hi to me and I said hi back and we were sitting on those benches in the subway station.

"Excuse me, can I hear your music?" he asked.

"Okay," I said.

"You can hear mine too," he offered.

So, we switched and then he started trying to talk to me in French. Well, we got on the subway. He's from Gabon in Central Africa. He said that he's only been here for three months and that he has only one friend and no family. He's trying to meet people.

Anyway, he gave me his number and asked me to call him and got off at 34th Street. Why do weird things like this always happen to me?