Morning in NYC

This morning I heard the sound of heavy engines outside the loft. I went to the window to see fire engines lining the street outside, the lights flashing, but no sound. A few minutes later they were all gone, as though a thought or a bit of wind up from the harbor ghosted them elsewhere. NYC is always mutating that way, the flow of energy throwing up vignettes of people and lights, machinery dancing alongside. Sometimes these are real disasters, but more often they are small knots of humans and illuminations that melt away in the next curve of time.
Meanwhile the western opera is finished. Here it is. Lost & Found: