John Biscello

From the series, Japan Poems.

At night,

the high-rise

with the lighted siege

of multi-colored eyes,

grows stumpy legs

and projects out of the earth

to wander freely,

without conviction or purpose.

No one,

not even the people living

inside its boxy compartments,

know that the building

uproots itself to move

beyond the norm and known.

Its ambulatory nocturne remains a mystery, a secret.

I wait all night

on the other side of the darkly dreaming river

to witness the high-rise get up

and take off.

I wait, and wait,

under a moonless sky,

and consider the rare intimacies

achieved by trust and longing,

by distances savored

in the company of solitude.