the moon is crisp
(a vacant spool)
whose sinews, white
have left their drool
on choppy clouds who keep their cool
despite their ties effacing
the sky is dark
(a cluttered room)
whose night lights skip
and then resume
their fluttered path where wind’s a broom
that sweeps the lines they’re chasing
Words by Rick Stachura. “Laughing, we looked up.” August 28, 2002.
Photo by Rick Stachura. Central Park from 5th Avenue and East 62nd Street. February 21, 2020.