Cinderella Liberty
We sunk our heads into the turrets
Of our fake-fur collars, hunched
In frosted mid-November bliss.
The streets, in soldier-grey, escorted
Us, pocket-handed and hip-kissed,
Between the railing and the rose,
Between the flightless and the flit.
And as I tried to fight your poetry with prose
Your smiles rose up to me, a tangent’s
Vessel on the bleak tangential sea.
And as the hours began to squint,
And the band let down and slow,
We watched the tired gulls pick
At the mysteries in the snow.