From the Fountain at the MET
Like pennies, I’ve caught and cradled
promises tossed in handfuls
between tourist passersby
hailing taxis curbside,
their soon, soon pledges
ring of goodbye
as yellow doors swing—
Winds are strong near my waters,
and so I hold stray vows in my fountain bed.
My limbs glisten
with giggles of children
who play near my dancing;
proposals and proclamations
and artistic speculations
carried down museum stairs;
hushed prayers in the after-hours,
only for my tempered waves,
of solitude and stalled dreams
in a city of machines.
Quietly, I reflect
how she sparkles
in my arabesque.
I hold a mirror
to lives in motion—
They would marvel
if they could see
the freedom
that comes from
dancing in place.