the crane twists the skyline,
ever higher, ever bolder.
somehow they see fit to begin at 7 am.
it makes about as much sense
as a midlife teen age boy
beating the pavement
with hooved feet
at three am
in search of another heart in this mist and muck.
no matter how high
no matter how bold
or early,
the muck is still going to be around you,
the vision still blurry at best.
that is until you have a heart
right on top of you.
then it is all crystal clear,
in the rush
to get there,
we forgot that the mist and the muck,
made it a worth while game.
more concrete.
two minutes to go.
20 years gone.
socks and shoes to disguise my cloven feet.
if only the cranes could have taken the day off.
or at least waited to start until noon.