The factories
breathe and plume
the skyline,
the light
grows heavy
and begins its
slow capsize,
everywhere
the water
is fringed
with crystal,
ice inching
over windows
and eyelids.
A flash of
peacock
where a door
opens and shuts,
the boom
of bass guitar
lost in the
whistling
parking lot.
Small and
white, the
tower clock
shivers into
silver, the
airport lies
low and flat
beside the river,
its lights
a fragile
stitching
above the
broad black
belt.