Messiaen ripples from an open
window on 57th Street. Driver
parking fancies himself a member
of an ensemble, a new quartet
for piano, car alarm, cellphone, dog
barking at the end of time. Piano
fades under SUVs, impatient drivers
who want nothing more than to fly
from the city to tomorrow. I fall
in with the rhythm of an inbound train,
take two steps at a time so we will
arrive together, settle in for its ten
minute lullaby, wander away into still
another song.
