Bird in Flight, the Bronx
Early morning, NYC
Fountain, NYC
Harlem History
Harlem Brownstone
South Bronx
Showing posts with label Amy Soricelli. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Amy Soricelli. Show all posts
Amy Soricelli: New Views of New York City
View at lunchtime
Central Park Walkers
Don't stand in the tunnel
Spanish Harlem
Wall Art
St. Patrick's Cathedral under repair
Amy Soricelli: Elle a l'air de Paris...
She looks for Paris on t-shirts with tiny rhinestone borders; shimmery lights across the blink of her eye;
She touches its rough edges- the streets designed crooked along the sleeves... foreign -seen only in her sleep.
She could squirrel away in the corner of a train seat -buried strong like a shadow- like a slip of air buried deep in a pocket.
She could curl up under every letter in a book./gather her arms around every sentence.
She could wave up her hand; maybe he would come -small cloth over his arm like in the movies;
She could sit her head straight back in her seat adjusting her body like a silk scarf.
She could sip small pools of loneliness dipped in light oil - spread across her lap.
She could twirl her feet under herself/ the straight of her stockings clear/ sleek.
She could wrap her arms around her single thoughts like soft bread - wine full in her mouth like words lost in a bubble.
She looks for Paris in street-corner musicians; notes in the air leading her up side streets like smoke signals.
She dances in the street across the bells/the lights of the city like sparkles in her hair.
She looks for Paris in dusty books; in smooth colors hanging along the walls of the sky.
She touches the single lines of day until it blends into her fingertips like paint.
She touches its rough edges- the streets designed crooked along the sleeves... foreign -seen only in her sleep.
She could squirrel away in the corner of a train seat -buried strong like a shadow- like a slip of air buried deep in a pocket.
She could curl up under every letter in a book./gather her arms around every sentence.
She could wave up her hand; maybe he would come -small cloth over his arm like in the movies;
She could sit her head straight back in her seat adjusting her body like a silk scarf.
She could sip small pools of loneliness dipped in light oil - spread across her lap.
She could twirl her feet under herself/ the straight of her stockings clear/ sleek.
She could wrap her arms around her single thoughts like soft bread - wine full in her mouth like words lost in a bubble.
She looks for Paris in street-corner musicians; notes in the air leading her up side streets like smoke signals.
She dances in the street across the bells/the lights of the city like sparkles in her hair.
She looks for Paris in dusty books; in smooth colors hanging along the walls of the sky.
She touches the single lines of day until it blends into her fingertips like paint.
Amy Soricelli: Six Views of New York
Chrysler Building
Grand Central Station
Metropolitan Museum of Art
NYC Morning
Orchard Beach
Spanish Harlem
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