open, I'm light
as a shadow—zooming
past flickering skyscraper
patterns chucked in my
path by new boldness
of sun.
Then suddenly
stuck—by the
circle, I'm struck,
inhaling deep May
morning air in
frustration,
when a smile breaks marking
mild re-apprehension—
as the weather
warms up, the west side
gets packed
—with the smell of burnt
chocolate.
