|Scenic overlook of Paterson, NJ, from Garret Mountain.|
Scenic OverlookIn the distance, in thebreak in the clouds on the horizon,I can see laughter.A sunset.I had forgotten about that.It's an old story --separating the forest from the trees.It seems to me now that there area lot better places I can be thanstanding here, surveying my past,when the only thing within my reachare the cold, damp car keys in my hand.I have a plan.
This is a dangerous place to stand.
In the distance,
in the descending dusk on the highway's horizon,
I see a house fly
alight on your thigh.
It's 40 years ago, and you are in bed at my side,
languid and nude.
I didn't pull over for this. Despite all signs,
I find it a dizzying view.
The fly rubs its hands and plots its next move.
A dismissive twitch of your flesh shoos it in a flash.
Then you disappear too, just like that,
as cars on Route 80 flee to the west.
I look to the east.
Behold this precipice: these wounds, dark and deep.
Alone on this road, alone in my bed,
40 years later,
I still watch you while you sleep.