Daylight slants like a razor cutting the buildings in half.
In the top half I see looking faces and it’s
not easy to tell which are people, which is stone work.
Below is shadow where any blase thing takes place:
clarinets and lovemaking, fists and the voices of sorrowful women.
A city like this one makes me dream extravagantly tall.
It’s the bright steel rocking invisibly above the shade below.
I look over strips of green grass lining the river,
at church steeples and into the cream-and-copper halls of tenements.
Alone, yes, but top-notch and indestructible — like the gilt-edge city.
Paraphrases from the novel Jazz by Toni Morrison.