Somersaulting Images Gerald Zipper Zipper Page 1 I remember your cheeks shiny apple-red on a      snowy day our sidewalks hemmed by mountains of white we walked down empty streets two innocents in a muffler-wrapped world remember tying the laces on his tiny sneakers we sat in a hot sun on a low stoop Broadway racketing a few steps away his face turned to mine a postage stamp pasted in my head remember the smoke pouring out of the 84th      Street building fire engines hysterical licks of flame stretching out windows the short bundle-woman inching along the sill her face a faded blob she plummeted like a sparrow shot in flight the gasps of a Greek chorus rose from the street I remember the first apartment on 101st Street embedding us in the creation that was      Manhattan jump-starting new worlds I wondered if the stern elevator operator would      challenge me if we would ever fill those wide rooms I remember the movie houses with their Saturday      couples decorous coffee houses tucked away in side      streets easy walks beside a swaggering Hudson munching soft pretzels on slatted benches Riverside Park fantasies of flowers spilling over memories crowding the ceiling of my room filling my nights with somersaulting images.. Gerald Zipper lives in New York.