New York Emma Browning Skyline masked by buildings, Blocking the sunlight, keeping it cold Faceless inhabitants lurking in the streets— toward their unknown destination. Yellow monsters prowling the streets, will they crush or welcome you? I am rooted to the pavement searching these faces— Watching these monsters “Where is the sunlight?” I may ask “Why is it hiding?” But I’ll find it in clear open space— Near the halls containing our history. There I find the sun. Unmarked by buildings— and the people smiling—people laughing. They know exactly where they’re going— And the cabs are silent, always waiting—never prowling.
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