New York V.2

The airplanes glide over my head
their sound deafening and dull
the plants around me murmur words and incantations
impulsed by a wind that chills
the voices of the peope call upon the City...
and she answers
awaiting, patient, unmoving
while the world itself
whirls in countless circles.

I am but a lost mariner in an unknown sea
hoping against hope that Prospero exists,
the cold brushes against my face
and the water strikes me as freezing.
My ship, poor vessel, is lost
the decks are clear and deserted
the helms moves as it must.
I am as powerless as the grain of dust
on the swelling vast ocean of time itself.