Aesthetic Realism Looks at New York City: Poetry

 

 

Ellen Reiss

 

Heard

Life comes delicately,
And in an afternoon of winter,
Lungs, a throat, small lips
Never heard before
Utter sound.
In the cries of the babies of New York
Are the noises
That float and tumble from a universe of sound.
In an hour, in a day,
In a neighborhood of New York,
I hear an orchestra of Beethoven,
And your beginning lungs.

© Ellen Reiss

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