You peek at the window where the fractured
Metro comes to life. From this height,
Your eyes are hypnotized by the explosion
Of lights, the signals of night rising
Like sonic music. Imagine how it is to walk
The streets below you, walk and never turn
Your back once again to the desk in your room,
Where the stacks of books are settled on top,
The pens organized in their own concise
Arrangement. If you zoom in towards
The vague scenery, you can witness how a mug
Of beer ends up at a mouth of a lonely
Consumer. Or how the footbridge runs parallel
To the overpass runs parallel to the train's
Railway. It will remind you that the niceties
Of love remain the same: companionship.
Marvel at the claims of the external, as they spread
Across the cityscape, and go beyond
To what is there, to what is not there, until
They come back to you, twenty flights of stairs
Above the ground, like a complex, interconnected
Web of occurrences. You are requested to savor
This passing hour, this grip of beauty on you,
These suggestions hanging in this February air, like mist
On spires in the morning. And you would eagerly
Respond—yes, yes—as though someone is listening in this
Stretch of silence, would tilt your face forward
Towards everything that has escaped you. Everywhere
The emergence of a concept: the conjugation
Of lives in the city, the serene assimilation of
The single and the more. Already you surpass
What is inside. All this time, you just want to be free.