It’s there forever
a theatre set
not changing,
not erosion.
Flying subway (through time),
40th, 41st, 42nd, 43rd,
I’m here (and back then).
New York disappears
around it
and is not big without it.
Everything falls away,
lives and cares,
and there is nothing
taller (for a moment)
and there is no reason to
build it up (nor take it down)
and I grieve for the dead
more than those who will never be born.
Beauty cannot be pure
but formed.
It’s not okay to love
just for beauty’s form
(but we can
and we will)
for as long as it stays,
as long as it stays.
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