Riding scaffold at night reminds me a little  of climbing in the canyons in
Brice or Escalante  on rock face with only moonlight to guide you . Only here
in NYC there  is no cactus; except if you consider  the union steward that
doses warmly
under the greasy fingered sport pages of the Post  a genius of cacti..

At a thousand feet (60 stories) its cold with a cutting wind that will make
you slap your mother and move South. What I like most are those little
zephyers(15-25 mph gusts) that catch the rig and hold it 8ft off the building
for 90 seconds.Then just dies as suddenly as it came  letting you  wall smash
like Wylie E. Coyote..
with his new Acme prototype.
 So here then  is a little poetry for my friend the moon who on this occasion
I could not directly see and  to all those who have "ridden rigs" at
night>Michael

La Lune sur le Pan Am

The moon ; my fickle friend ,
rises late and  like a teasing lover
shows herself naked  in the reflected  glass
of the stone and steel canyons
  that are her boudoir mirrors
.
She stands there  shivering and shimmering in majestic heights
  adorned  by the Chrysler and Empire lights
that kiss her hushed beauty with nocturnal delight
competing with stars all through the night .

We are not jealous of her
No ,for like us ;
she is here but  short hours
to rise an toil among Gods towers
.
Michael  (from a stonemasons journal)