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Some days she doesn’t
fit into her skin, too young
to be old this soon.
I type in a dim
dark room listening to surf.
There’s an app for that.
90 knows me well,
her sinuous curves — through five
states — lead me onward.
Unlike cold New York
you smile, take in all comers
with your midwest charm.
Red blue brown green pink
purple lines, veins arteries
pulse with commuters.
Though Burnham’s Folly’s
in New York, he saved his best
for his hometown dreams.
What naiad dances
in your pulsing, surging heart,
calling me to her?
City of Shoulders
Your fountains bring tears, your sky
scrapers pierce my heart.
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