Like the Moon
The sun lost its battle
with darkness and slowly
set in the west once again.
It flashed in final defiance
off the high canyon windows
of the Thirty-Fourth St. corridor.
The night ignored the brilliant
epithets of rage and continued
to move across Manhattan, not
so much a thief, as a conquering army.
New York welcomes the nightly invasion
like a hooker greets a sailor on shore leave.
She revels in the cover of darkness
as her wrinkles disappear in the dim,
her marquee lights dazzle and distract
the critiquing eyes of daylight.
For the city is like a waxing moon,
its gravity--its pull ever present;
but it’s only when the sun goes down
that it really begins to shine.
SMG
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