The lecture was on God not needing his creations,
The evening's trend to mauve, and all you have chosen
As we rub our eyes and look around with but a hazy
Frequency. The earth's in a bad way.
And still the doomed city is afloat.
They are a choir, they are a song
The sun beats a brass gong and will not set:
A bellow of desire a residue of despair
This is not the heaven we counted on, still so knotted to the blue world.
Praise Manhattan from a hundred and seven flights up.
(SGH)
Photo credit: Harvey Kirsch
"And fire."
(this was wonderful)
Lovely. Thank you for these quiet, unexpected weekend treats. I had forgotten how fulfilling the right words can be.
Thank you for this Shannon. A wonderful way to start my week.