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I used to think that I belonged here,
in this built up world,
tall as the skyscrapers and just as strong.
So when Times Square feels lonelier
than perching atop the Highline,
looking out across empty train cars
and the swollen river;
when the night turns,
all of the stars winking in windows;
as this monument of a city,
rooted in subway tracks,
releases into the sky;
I feel the sound of the street,
the rush underground,
the black night,
lightless against the outline
of New Jersey,
and think, still, I do.
in this built up world,
tall as the skyscrapers and just as strong.
So when Times Square feels lonelier
than perching atop the Highline,
looking out across empty train cars
and the swollen river;
when the night turns,
all of the stars winking in windows;
as this monument of a city,
rooted in subway tracks,
releases into the sky;
I feel the sound of the street,
the rush underground,
the black night,
lightless against the outline
of New Jersey,
and think, still, I do.
