We repeat instead of going forth
and refrain from ending melody
in the city. We wait.
How to say—we have no guards
only the rains, only the fragile cord
These are the lies we tell
There is no cord, but rusted chain links
grinding a song—I hold you, neither one nor the other.
Only children wonder how the city appears from below
I tell you-it is nothing but apple blossom clouds
and thin horse tails of vapor—
Not one hint of our darknesses,
our slippery alley ways & crooked mews.
Those born of the floating city know its price:
our shadows above us, blanketing the sky
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