Prospect Ave

Saint George slays the dragon down the street
from where I sit astride the broadbacked beast
who sleeps with one eye open and surveys
all that lies beneath.

Holding private court I watch one hundred
thousand peasants live in lines of light between
the river and the sky called royal
ruled by whom they do not know for I

am Queen

only of rooftop expanses
blank and serene that only I can see
from a hill I thought I dreamed and walked until
it manifested

where the noise recedes to just the quiet hum of electric sleep
the city lies beneath.