Thursday, November 29, 2007


a new york city postcard
with twin towers intact, a handful of letters
behind the façade, still holding up
kisses and all the sentiments
one reserves for postcards
on the rush

traditionally requiring
no response, i have suitably lost
an appropriate reaction, timelessly
treading that crumbling grey
sky, all hushed
but for the wailing –

you ran up to the roof;
you stood lost
between Thompson and Sullivan;
you stared out
your Brooklyn window
from across the waters;
i sat locked
in morning traffic

and someone held
this postcard, in love

how to say yes –
the city, wound
tightly, can still unfurl
the most complexly alive
secrets, as we empty
and refill ourselves
with these lost
or found moments

© yi-ching lin

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