Improbably to Harbor

 Maybe it was a common quail, which
is certainly what it looked like. Maybe 
somebody's pet, who knows? We met
where the sidewalk plunges between two cliffs
of juniper, a tunnel already dark when the sunset starts.

"I looked at her and she at me," 

like Lola and the boy in the song. 

She pattered on towards me

hesitated
then scuttled on past. I was going south and she north
after all, and the sun was going down. Time flies,

even when we don't.

Out along the terrace of 85th Avenue
the trees were backlit, all the branches afire:
polished gold and copper against 
the slate foil of the clouds.

I'm ill today. For once I was not striding:
I was sauntering. Stopping

to look up, dumbfounded by the towers
building and collapsing in the sky. I hope
my trusting friend found her way to cover;

I hope somewhere, beyond the shores 

of those heaving clouds, a lover is adoring you

as you deserve. I hope 

what burns behind the trees

illuminates your face as you turn to him; 

and I hope that, with that, your joy scuttles

improbably to harbor.