ferrydust

In the shadows of tall buildings of fallen angels on the ceilings,
oily feathers in bronze and concrete,
faded colors, pieces left incomplete.
The line moves slowly, past the electric fence,
across the borders, between continents,

in the cathedrals of New York and Rome,
there is a feeling that you should just go home
and spend a lifetime finding out just where that is.

In the shadows of tall buildings, the architecture is slowly peeling;
marble statues and glass dividers,
someone is watching all of the outsiders …
The line moves slowly through the numbered gate,
past the mosaic of the head of state,

in the cathedrals of New York and Rome,
there is a feeling that you should just go home
and spend a lifetime finding out just where that is.

In the shadows of tall buildings, of open arches endlessly kneeling;
sonic landscapes, echoing vistas,
someone is listening from a safe distance..
The line moves slowly into a fading light —
a final moment in the dead of night,

in the cathedrals of New York and Rome,
there is a feeling that you should just go home
and spend a lifetime finding out just where that is.