The wild sun,
Majestic in its dying,
Splashes a tender, violent orange
Over the pale cafés.
Above the Hudson,
The sky has split wide open;
It bleeds color.
Men become shadows
As they tread the rails of the crosswalks,
Cut out in stately black
Against a furious dusk.
Lights flare on.
Somber women bring coffee.
Night settles in around us,
Warm and expected as a shroud.
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