Highlights of the night remind me of a previous life.
One still together, on the front lawn heather.
All these tall buildings and starless skies
remind me this is exactly what you despise,
and how I love the busy people and endless streets
shows how much the country heat would beat me down,
almost as hard as you had to me.
I’ll stay here in my city heaven,
away from your wild hatred.
But even in my safest haven,
I still see all the bruises you made me.
When I turn my head and see my new home,
I’ll remember it used to be with you.
When I see the stars –
and I barely do,
in this city of nightly excess –
that’s what they are,
all they are,
no meanings or signs
and my earthly gratitude
to this here earth
from where I watch
my rare, holy, ancient stars.
If I could live here forever,
just me and my status quo,
I’d look at the people walk
among the restless earth
from way up high
on my personal palace.
I’d look at the stars
(or the lack there of)
and at the expansive black void
where we are meant to go.
But I can’t stay here long,
so I watch the changing scape,
I watch towers rise and fall
and wait for my turn to leave.
So the other day I took a panorama shot of the Potomac River from the Georgetown side. On the very left the long building is the Kennedy Center, and on the very right is the Rosslyn skyline.
Some more pictures from the same day:
You are in a room. You look around the room and see a few tables with people sitting by them. Judging by a menu above a counter in front of you and what people are drinking you come to the conclusion that you are in a coffee shop. You turn around and notice the large glass windows in front of the shop. It’s maybe ten at night and the shop is located in the middle of an urban city street. You wonder which city. Listening to the people’s conversations for a few minutes and the flag across the street, you realize you’re in Washington DC. The dim lighting and relaxing atmosphere of the shop invite you to stay a while. You decide to stay due to the inch or so of snow lingering on the ground outside – it might be winter. You find a seat and sit back, closing your eyes. When you open them, you wonder where you might end up next.
The still Washington air
Picks up to a breeze
You don’t look to the sky
You look to the trees
And feel the still Washington air