Monarch over Manhattan
Tiger-tinted skyfarer, you ply a course
Avenue, seven stories high
through shifting architectural tableaus
a glaze of smooth September blue.
You drift across tarred rooftops
slalom through antenna groves
peeping through skylights into
saluting water-tower sentinels.
You flash your frantic shadows
taunting gargoyles as they lolligag.
You buck the shear
endure the gusts from intersecting streets,
among monoliths of brick and steel.
You wing above
Manhattan, trace the avenues
downtown, above the traffic’s bray and
towards Washington Square, ever southwestward,
across the harbor,
then out above the skin
of a vast and varied continent, to glide
by star, by compass of your hide.
Lone flier, primed to merge into a greater
a migratory myriad in motion to converge.
Again you calibrate on
your abiding goal,
to join the flutterati in the trees of