Inside us, numb fingers deconstruct a city,
listing out its metaphors, one by one:
The skyline hovers over its shaving water.
An eagle, soaked in sun, talons the blue.
Joggers flit, arcing electric post to post;
light hums lucid, winter catches its breath.
Milestones cave into rear-view mirrors.
Acrid, memory burns like rubber, stinging.
Cities are bits of prose masquerading as poetry,
deciphering them is a dead end.
Like paradoxes, we must leave them behind.
Silver-finned, let’s take to the skies.