Jetlag

Zeno and Justine, Manhattan, NYC 2009.

Jetlag

To the city where straight lines rule, where the grid guides streets and avenues, where buildings are as stiff as my convictions, they submit their bleary countenance and their creased appearance. Is it just jetlag before the first swig of coffee? In my viewfinder, something’s out of frame. Those two seem more rumpled than their sheets. My son seems to be telling me: it’s not what it looks like Dad, life isn’t all squared away, all neatly harmonic like in your comics. It’s more arduous: love sometimes stands outside crosswalks and pathways, and this is what makes it marvelous.