What I love about the city
Is that you can feel the lives of other people
Unwinding around you, unintentionally secret
Or half closed off, a dark eye and some hair
Behind a semitransparent shade.
People displaying or hiding
the inscrutable fulcrums of their elbows,
not caring who sees the faded brick façade
Of their apartment buildings or office buildings or
Places where they keep their teeth.
Between flashes of lives spinning out
Like gold thread behind the dark windows
and cars and buses, I see a young couple
Kissing absentmindedly and an old man with a cane
Testing the height of the curb. People laugh
Like it’s free, and walk like their legs weren’t made
of gold thread, constantly unspooling.
Over the nubby brim of my scarf, I offer the city my eyes,