Rise To Fall

All that passed was in the east, blending in and slipping into obscurity where the blues turn to blacks the longer your eyes study and focus. All that would be was in the west, setting in a sun-painted sky like a future blood offer. I looked long way against the scrapers and smiled at the MetLife Clock Tower, screaming the time above Madison Square. Squeezed between the East River and Hudson grazing on land already picked clean, the fruits foraged from concrete and spent oil. The sun fell again, and the moon took notice, half moved by glare. What is stained will set in the cool breeze of night, and upon first light will be the weight to carry across 26th and 2nd.

Harried by the impending night, a graze of Coons file through the southern field, single file towards the crick as the young buck throws his nose to the ground, searching for the strawberries I threw as peace offering. Paced steps as the adolescent stag put one hoof down at a time, poking his head through iron gates and dilapidated chicken wire guided by the moon and the lamps of streetlights. Out of sight now down the same south side pasture the nursery crossed except his path opposite the crick. The sun fell again, and the moon took notice, half moved by shade. The light gone, the bugs rising, and the things that shriek begin to sing on the banks of the Yellowhawk—shaking toward amber winds and the last flame of cloud-sparked embers.

All that past now a burden on the horizon; wherever I go, there I am.

Cover Art: Flatiron Building Springtime In New York - Thor Wickstrom