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
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