An escarpment colored pallid black
Outlines the western shore of the Hudson here,
Right across the river from midtown Manhattan.
It’s called The Palisades,
With precipitous cliffs that lift above the water
Into a stunning perch for viewing New York City’s skyline.
My childhood twinkled here, as if protected by the ramparts
From a transient present:
Scrapes, temptations, pranks, and tantrums.
I live apart now, but this tract mastered time
Into some things permanent:
That ideal and majestic view across the watercourse,
And then, lèse majesté in comparison,
Just a look inside, no matter what this present brings,
To a panacea of cherished memory.
