A Morning River
Walk
Little cars drift by and go somewhere
Across the Hudson under morning sun,
A mile out and silent. Over there,
Some banker’s long commute has just begun;
A family occupies a taxi cab,
Unsure and stuffy, only visiting;
A scientist drives northward to her lab;
A lonely postal worker waits for spring.
None sees me as I muse about their days,
Each life a unique web of circumstance
That I will never know, in an expanse
Of breakfasts, errands, chance. The morning haze
Lifts with the wind, the buildings look around
The sprawling land, and nothing makes a sound.
John Masella
If you have any thoughts about this poem, John
Masella would be pleased to hear them