Andrew Reynolds


The city rose until the lake beneath it

dried, and then it hung there, suspended in air.


Riding with a sidecar on our motorbike

we round

the horizon’s

shadowy knoll.


Human beings are indecisive and

bejeweled by desire, you say,

Lock a city in time and it dies.


How out of the night sky your words allow

mountains to drop through the continent.


It came to us in the days when the city

was little more than a scaffold

that the inferno of the living

would burn at the core of polis,

drawing into itself as a nautilus.


You say, the city is an aspect of human anatomy,

and I catch the side of your face in the fading light.


[BIO]: Andrew received his MFA in Poetry from CUNY – Brooklyn College.

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