"New York, Mid-Afternoon" - A Poem

It was one of those wet-hot days,
bright brief summer shower
soaked every inch of concrete
as if the sky were cleansing the sins
like scabs off the city's skin.

Muggy. Puddles everywhere, reflecting gold.
Women staring like I was the long-lost brother
they'd been trying to find for years.
Deliberate footwork, pointing my toes around curbs and cabs.
Self-conscious.

Suddenly I realized I'd sailed from January to June.
For a moment I was lifted to a higher realm—
a kind of reshaping of existence.
Where do I go from here? I thought.
Then it was gone.