"This is my letter to the world
    That never wrote to me."*
                                    —Emily Dickinson



We would sit under New York skyscrapers
Upon the marble steps of Midnight
My friends and I
Dwelling on the Good Times

We knew it then
Our laughter was vastly infinite
Above us
The prosthetic Heaven
Of concrete and iron beehives
Overtaking Sky and Sleep

Heady Days
Drunken Nights
Our Youth lost
Rather wasted
And a devil-may-care
Hope for Tomorrow

We sang the Songs of the times
The tunes that would soon forget Us
It was alright to stroll down the gutters
Of our endless Urban Paradise

But those days and nights are long gone now
And I now wonder whether Space & Time
Will someday reconcile those memories and these dreams
Of the age that came and went and fled and lingers still