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.

Denise Levertov