Phthalocyanine: Between Cities

Rick Mullin


The Hudson, blue now as the glassy shore,
resolves to an atonal island’s chord,
a boat-length segment in the atmosphere.
One trader falls into the morning wind,
alarming echoes in the ferry wake.

Another stranger on her telephone
may not be one of several women seen
dissolving in the Saturday cafes.
A piece of everything fits nicely here.
The towers shine. Some of them have wings.

Rick Mullin

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