on a motorcycle,
shaking down 5th Avenue,
passing the Met,
and thinking about
The Portrait of Ambroise Vollard.
I wonder, while wet,
where I will see her again
and if
the timing will be terrible.
at the change of a light
at the intersection
of 64th street,
I wait and watch people
watch me.
tonight will be lost,
unremembered and holy,
but this moment
is forever
and stalled.