Winter Walk

Floating in the river, there are
Chunks and bits of ice,
Lazily meandering,
Their journey imprecise.

The water’s gray, the sky is blue;
A smokestack bellows white.
An early morning winter walk
Such eyeings do invite.

The promenade belongs to me;
Manhattan’s yet to stir.
The neighborhood is mine alone;
The pigeons would concur.