Mapping

January shrugged her shoulders, wrapped in lambskin with a touch of silk, and exhaled her British reserve with a hint of trident gum. The ringlets floated through the shutters of a second floor apartment and settled on the water-streaked cheek of New York's first generation. The generation breathed in.

I've been searching for a way to battle gravity.

I've been watching as the men and women fade into each others' hidden hurts - the Eves and the Adams, the forbidden and the falling, the always falling...

I've been lingering in lamplight despite my better judgment. Flurries falter around bare branches and I close my eyes to meditate on something tangled. There's a whisper in my ear and my lips meet something soft.

And I know I'm lost and I know I'm found and I know that someone has turned into something and I'm falling into four letter words again.

I'm falling into hand fits hand and laugh meets smile. I'm falling into happiness on a high heeled Friday night.

I'm falling into what it means to be beautiful to the touch.

Broadway gazes at Amsterdam from afar. They know the power of possibility. They know that in New York City, parallel roads do meet.