Inside the silver body
Slowing as it banks through veils of cloud
We float separately in our seats
Like the cells or atoms of one
And states of a shuddering god.
Under him, a thirsty brilliance.
Pulsing or steady,
The fixed lights of the city
And the flood of carlights coursing
Through the grid: Delivery,
Arrival, Departure. Whim. Entering
And entered. Touching
And touched: down
The lit boulevards, over the bridges
And the river like an arm of night.
Book, cigarette. Bathroom.
Thirst. Some of us are asleep.
We tilt roaring
Over the glittering
Zodiac of intentions.
“Immortal Longings” by Robert Pinsky, from The Figured Wheel. © The Noonday Press, 1996.