Poetics of Space

4th of July

I want to be up here with you when it’s pink and it’s orange and cooling from the sinking sun.  It’s too chilly to know but the days will be long and the night will be warm and the ice cream truck somewhere around with that song. I won’t tell you to look at the stars because the Chrysler’s brighter, the Empire State, and FDR drive. The first thing I remember, I was up there on that really tall building, couldn’t fall asleep, looking out this way to the Queens sky. The sun came up right around here, but it probably moved further East by now. I still can’t sleep, but out here barely mind January winds. My toes are cold but I barely mind knowing that May is so soon, and the rosé’s really too sweet because it was cheap.

I had never been that close to free, alone up here, an island of fireworks, between that job and the next. But still, being up here with you, it would be magic and cute, we can get drunk we can dance and fall asleep. The little speaker going and the blanket laid out, I know there’s Shelter Island out there, but this is ours. And it’ll be gone by the time it’s overrun.