Hanabi
I’m beginning to suspect New York isn’t real
walking the High Line under a full moon
fireworks booming off the Battery
“people” stop in every shadow
kissing, clinging
breathing each other in
along the way is a hotel with no curtains
where lovers young and old put on a show
for the second-story handholders
I can’t help laughing, struggling
to suspend my disbelief that such a place
(such a night) could exist
in the Hudson are the half-submerged pilings
of long-dead piers, incomplete stories
washed away by the water
we are writing our own story
inscribing it under the full moon
while the fireworks light the Battery sky
Yes.