Bonnie "Prince" Billy, Columbus Circle, Feb. 7 2013

Ok, so it's been a minute. Here's a new one.


through the gauzy carapace,
framed & broken,
hanging over Columbus,
the passing tails
of taxis, taxis, taxis.
the flash of siren, reflected
above the circle,
the constant flicker of candle light,
three per table,
shimmering smaller circles,
and always the shooting stars, below;
in the middle distance, streetlights.
and further,
still smaller points of yellow,
each apartment randomized
on the horizon,
their tenants unaware of the watchers above.
and watching all of us,
the gold and green orbs,
the triangles of light,
the striking red--
crosshatched, bisecting lines,
everything overlaid.
and the secret space, in a town
that cherishes its secrets,
those hidden spaces over everything.

he sang.
above the cars, above the streets, above the trees
littering the park, below.
above the diners across the mall,
who may
or mayn’t
be admiring
the private wonder
of their own secret space.
he sang.
and behind him, suspended,
reflected, he sang again,
and again, further still,
close enough to almost touch Columbus
just barely, on the plaza,
he sang at last.

the constant rain of lights,
the gauzy specter of a city
returned to, soon enough,
and so much grander,
remembering,
we’d never left.