Mosaics (circa 2011)
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In that hazy place beneath closed eyes
and above dreams,
I am sometimes back in the Met
on that crisp December day.
I’m wandering between the columns,
Seeing my face in the
black and white tiles,
imagining the boat
that would take me to the afterlife.
And I am looking for you
around the statues and
through the glass cases.
I’m not sure what you think of me
in this slice of time we’re in,
but I know we’re bound here,
looking at each other.
We are surrounded by history,
but awed only by our love-
this strange, changing thing
in a city we don’t belong in yet.
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