Subterranean Skyline

It’s 8:40 pm
And I’m on a rooftop
In New London
I can’t describe the stars
And how they blink like eyes
Overhead
But they’re still right there

And I can’t help staring
And everyone’s talking
And I hear it all
Every word
Every thought

And I know I’m young
And callow
Too arrogant to notice
That I’ve gotten older
With the turn of a page
And Dead River Time
Who trickled thinly
Through the years
Has risen above the levee

This article appears in December 2007.