Stirring slow or faster in the night
dread silence, found in sleeping cities
where virgins shyly dance before their mirrors,
yet without light,
turning to intense inspections, soft
as murmurs passing windows, briefly heard
from strangers never seen, somewhere bound,
the river flows,
pausing only for reflections on a mighty bridge
light, gauze yellow or unholy white, bursting
into calmness, when ships cease disturbance.
Do you hear me?
Motions of crossings in the final journey,
halts. But stirrings slow or faster, move
in unfelt currents, changes, untouched by dawn.
This time, foreign.
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words: Gary Beck, New York
painting: Ira Joel Haber, New York (online gallery)