NY

Leaving the lead sky behind
on a delayed flight
to the frontier of my dreams.
 
Grey and other urban shades
sketch the landscape,
The city endlessly pictured
where I become tiny.

Tarmac grid you hide known places
around every corner.
Fast yellow cabs dodge 
the steam rising to the air.
 
Imaginary stories will happen
in your streets once I'm gone.

So familiar I wish to discover all of you
so vibrant I want to sit in your Park.
 
I steal some moments
wandering around
in common places for others.

Pictures

I read in a book that the grey of the clouds

and the wet cobblestones could devour the light.

The cold and the rain will get to your bones.

Pictures of someone in exile, who ran away

from the metropolis to the charming little city



Everything depends on the color of the crystal

that one looks through. My pictures were bright,

full of green, with the cobblestones as pieces of a puzzle,

drawing the silhouette of a legendary place.

Subterranean secrets of lives lost underground

coexist with the nights that build oblivion,

of the previous generations and eras.


The grass is always greener in Edinburgh.

Trees seem statelier and of thinner twigs,

Old Town and New Town sleep in silence.

The forest of chimneys talks to me about the past,

blue sky and winter light caress my face

through the attic window.