February Evening In New York

As the stores close, a winter light
Opens air to iris blue
Glint of frost through the smoke
Grains of mica, salt of the sidewalk
As the buildings close, released autonomous
Feet pattern the streets
In hurry and stroll; balloon heads
Drift and dive above them; the bodies
Aren't really there
As the lights brighten, as the sky darkens
A woman with crooked heels says to another woman
While they step along at a fair pace
"You know, I'm telling you, what I love best
Is life. I love life! Even if I ever get
To be old and wheezy-or limp! You know?
Limping along?-I'd still ... " Out of hearing
To the multiple disordered tones
Of gears changing, a dance
To the compass points, out, four-way river
Prospect of sky
Wedged into avenues, left at the ends of streets
West sky, east sky: more life tonight! A range
Of open time at winter's outskirts