Winter strains toward spring.
A bird is singing in a leafless tree.
The river gleams, the sidewalks glint with ice
or with a hint of possibility.
A blade of sun bisects the afternoon
street. In such a slippery spot I fell,
righted myself, stood up,
and found myself no longer in the winter
but in a city and a season slyly
disguised as ordinary, but transfigured.
The grime of dailiness was all rinsed clean.
In a leafless tree a bird was singing.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
The Knicks Win, Mamdani Triumphs?
On Saturday night, as the final seconds ticked down on the Knicks’ improbable NBA championship run, New…
How to Destroy the Black Family
In the latest installment of the ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein, Delano Squires joins…
The American Covenant’s Answer to AI
Artificial intelligence is testing our commitment to the great moral covenant that binds us together as a…
