every so often, I step outside
just to make sure the city too persists

the buildings turn

gleam their gray gleam into my eyes

it looks back

the city looks back at me when I look at it
and at these moments I wish to run toward it
to peel off slivers of the sidewalks
and the cement
and the skyscrapers' glass enclosures
and wrap myself in them

absorb their sheen

but, instead, I watch

instead, I look at the city, and it looks back

and when I exhale
the vapor floats in front of me and dulls the gray gleam

penetrates its solemnity

so I turn, too

turn around and walk away