Flying Home
We’re leaving this place;
these kaleidoscope nights
that burn in loud neon
above Times Square after dusk.
Time can blur the lines,
like hearts & flesh
that yearn for ways through
the blare of yellow taxis;
through a maze of noise,
groping alone in the dark
for each other.
Frazzled by waking hours,
dragging feet with humid
thoughts down broad avenues;
our silence reverberating
like the furore of subway trains.
People can travel light
or heavy, distances shrink
in no time or not at all.
We could forage all night
for words & warm cuddles;
hail a cab to abduct us
from the bowels of West 47th
all the way to Brooklyn.
Maybe we’ll find a cool
room that streams movies.
Wordless – wrapped in fresh linen;
in some other sleepless light.
©️ Orion Foote
Visions of Orion Poetry 