Sunrise, discarding New York magazine
poems not of city, even could
have written them myself, it seems
Heat grows, tossing New York Times
Vade Mecum of commute, tired of weight
of business and estate, pages never used
Now New York streets, unforgiving
red-light-jumping cars, pedestrians running on
adrenalin and wheels, upending
boy on crutches
baby carriage
scattered in their haste
to steal a march upon
New York morning sun
Even those possessed
of lifetime wage employment can't resist
caffeine-driven New York state of mind
traffic cops, tabloids and terror plots
look up, construction into sky
precise design and accident, human-conceived
magnificence, fragile towers, peaks
beloved Chrysler spire, beauty glimpsed
at last, New York windows upon sun
Clouds where passengers no longer fly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem