With our glasses off,
staring at the Christmas lights
strung close to your ceiling
is like walking the midnight
shores of the Genessee,
in sandals and sweatshirts-
our footfalls soft in the shadowed grass,
the city's lights warm and indefinite
hovering over carless roads,
its ardent eyes enlivening
the quiet trees bending
to their brown reflections
in the river.

05/26/2004

Posted on 05/26/2004
Copyright © 2025 Christina Gleason