At A Window, New York City

When I drink

I’m the only one here:

a nun with baggage,

a scholar duck-walking,

a shard for archeologists

above the Manhattan Fault.

An exile from Afghanistan

might find his mountains.

I look for silos

on the tops of buildings:

penthouse treebelts,

breaks of shadow.

When I drink I live alone,

a piece of the skyline

going out

like ice and alcohol,

in the pattern of light.

– from “Journey” by Kathleen Norris

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