the edge of a leaf

From the Major Deegan, going southeast
a mile below the bridge,
a sky of wind-driven clouds,
like Toledo by El Greco,
rose over the river and the island beyond.
On high bluffs opposite,
bare smoky trees,
their billows shearing west
as the wind
sheared the sky to the east,
were softly splashed with paint-gun leaves,
alive and bright in sheltered nooks.
Swinging east at the Triboro Bridge,
a 270-degree tri-borough view:
Manhattan, to the west,
stood shocked and overhung
by banks of massive grays
that made its towers toys.
Brooklyn, to the southeast,
lay quiet under ranks
of pale-gold fires running fast to sea,
a boiled-up rage of ocean, sun, and wind.
Queens, to the east,
sugar-smiled with pink-white cotton puffs
floating on a smear of pearl and blue
that told the winds had calmed
over Long Island Sound.
Going east on the Triborough span,
a wish arose, a quiet ache
to have you see the view.

View of Toledo by El Greco

© 4 Dec 2007 Heather Quinn, as hera