Tailgating is not always intentional

@ 42nd Street & 5th Avenue (2012)

Cars disappear into someone's gestures. The longer you look into a photograph in your wallet, you see shapes, borders, and silhouettes.

Above may not be sky, but an indication of intransigence, that perhaps you're moving away from the temptation of apogees, dreams, conquests.  

In the silence of a train station, empty seats refuse to yield into metaphors, especially as hints of something exiled. Even the way we used to hold each other's hands that last time I saw you, their fingerprints were already uncoiled in what you might not want to say,

but instead became a way of looking at clouds from your window seat.

Meet Me There

Empire State Building (March 2012)

The night expands into shadows on sidewalks, in steps hurrying to catch the next train, or as they walk into a park to sit on a bench and rest. Breezes caress cheeks, gestures, or trail punctuations in a conversation. Cars converge and diverge into routes, pre-meditations, or failed plans. She keeps looking at her watch, at what its numbers tell her, their power over her expectations. There's the sky to look at. But her eyes don't look beyond the branches of trees without leaves. Her mind settles on the sound of steps, at what they are up to. She can still feel him in these nameless faces, his touch, the movement of his palms on her, where they pursue her. He takes her further in her closed eyes, into where trees hide between city-streets, between tongues that know what each cannot feel.