From the 86th
Floor of the
Statue of
on
up here
above the city
looking south
from the 86th floor
the wind is hard and winter cold
we catch a glimpse
of the green lady of the harbour
in the distance
where the Hudson greets
the eastern estuary, she stands
on her small snow-blown island
holding grey fire
stone flame fueled by copper
meanwhile out along an avenue driving north
a wailing siren sounds a low alarum
trailing some urban urgency
like the lonesome howling losses of a moonless wolf
and we are far away watching
like secondary gods
powerless and mostly irrelevant
with the twenty-mile gaze
of the sad-at-heart
for what happens to the helpless
also happens here
in this elevated circumstance
what is it that we feel
besides the fear of falling
is it the fear of joy …
by a sudden jubilant arrival
of some sparrow-palmed divinity
his handshake singing
like the night.
John B. Lee