A White Poet

Kadya Molodovsky

1937

For H. Leyvik

New York.
A white poet stood on the hundred-and-fourth floor.
The sky and an iron city
Engaged in a conversation.
A thirsty “forever” marched on
In bewildered
Disorganization.
New York lit up green
And red,
With a dazzle of sun.
New York sank into thought
All the way to its far, noisy end.
A white poet stood on the hundred-and-fourth…
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