Orange Streets

The streets littered
with orange blossoms
off the sidewalk trees,
they glowed through
the night, nearly brighter
than the constellations combined.


Their bodies drifting
in the empty streets
with our feet scuffing
all along the curbside.
Stopping to sit beneath
the lamp-post we
knew they were vessels
and ships to 
anywhere else.


And anywhere else
was where we were,
3 am streets with neon
fading in the black,
but orange- always a 
possibility of adventure.


They'd come from all
the seas, Red and Pacific,
from 5th, 6th, and 3rd
avenues all down the island,
to rest at our feet at the corner
of Hudson. They were spent,
sweet smelling in the breeze.


We made them into crowns
to wear in triumph,
our home their destination,
our street a flower parade
and homecoming. 


It wasn't spring,
but rebirth was a gracious 
gift here anyways.


We waded deep 
into their harbor,
held them to the sky
and knew their journey
had dropped anchor.
Life ending where ours
always was.


We were anywhere,
anywhere at all,
the vast sky to 
prove it, the night
to seal our words
to our lips with the humidity.


They were home
as we climbed aboard to
go anywhere else.