Birthday

Happy Birthday, G.


Sidewalks of New York

I picture you in shades of gray,
soft and easy footsteps that
leave the weary sidewalks
sighing in your wake,

Come again, gentle stranger.

The steam just underneath,
watching though the grates,
measuring your movement
by the sunlight’s rhythm.

Come. Again. Gentle. Stranger.

Asphalt and concrete lie
together, legs intertwined,
whispering secrets, waiting
for winter to cool your heels.