Из альбома: Moving Picture
I.
Grim-faced and forbidding,
Their faces closed tight,
An angular mass of New Yorkers
Pacing in rhythm,
Race the oncoming night,
They chase through the streets of Manhattan.
Head-first humanity,
Pause at a light,
Then flow through the streets of the city.
They seem oblivious
To a soft spring rain,
Like an English rain
So light, yet endless
From a leaden sky.
The buildings are lost
In their limitless rise.
My feet catch the pulse
And the purposeful stride.
I feel the sense of possibilities,
I feel the wrench of hard realities.
The focus is sharp in the city.
II.
Wide-angle watcher
On life's ancient tales,
Steeped in the history of London.
Green and grey washes
In a wispy white veil
Mist in the streets of Westminster.
Wistful and weathered,
The pride still prevails,
Alive in the streets of the city.
Are they oblivious
To this quality?
A quality
Of light unique to
Every city's streets.
Pavements may teem
With intense energy,
But the city is calm
In this violent sea.