an old portrait on a new canvas

an old portrait on a new canvas
broken thoroughfares and sharply cut steel twist and burn through sedant turns and milky shadows
the sun smolders through fleshy clouds
cigarettes streak tender embers on the cobblestone

the city hushes
it rushes and roars and stands still with a passion for pause

the wind sears like acid kisses
prying at hazel picture frames until i am weeping clarity
my eyes seep ash that tumbles down my nose and dis - solves on my palette with a finish of oak and prairie grasses
the time passes and i find rapture in crooked corners

i check my pulse and it hums like an engine to the rhythm of the city
i am a collective
i am an exclamation

we are fashioned from splintered roots, clay, and a trem - bling wick
a vantage point on glowing living rooms and vibrating floors
the city harmonizes with the energy of melting ore
the steady drum of time beats forward
each crude cast of progress and we ride the kinetic waves rippling outward from the hub speaking in metal spokes and soldered phrases a syntax of works and fevered sweat
we are drawn to the heat
we huddle closer to the core

in an instant the world is dark and cold
a black swan on a moonless pond slick with midnight dew and we step back out into the prickling street and shuffle towards home
our silhouettes are lost among the shingles and the eaves
blanketing the city in patchwork malaise

it is dawn and clear and the moon lingers to acknowledge
salutations smiles and a bid good day

we speak in muttered tongues so as not to wake the others
we whisper about the sunrise and poke fun at the intrepid skyline
when shall we meet again i ask
the moon frowns and disappears with a lingering gaze 

look skyward for a glimpse of a retreating riposte
i sit for hours lost in conversation with my memories
i become my memories
i become the moon
and we meet again
i have met myself again
i have met myself
i have met
i have
i