Raises

 The streets don’t look different, the air doesn’t vibrate with potential. You think perhaps you shouldn’t make mountains out of mole hills but you also long for mountains, so it’s hard not to look for them. When you leave him on the L train you are softer than before, but it may just be a trick of the lights, just the fog rolling in across the east river. You are different now, harder, carved in marble by apprentice hands. The east river remains as ever. 

You wonder what it is it’s trying to say.