Of long streets marked by dim lights.

Concrete steps that ran the side,
of your leathern'd shoes worn out,
by the myriad looks that browsed,
through your soul and left you untouched.

Solemn, You, sideways the smile.

Poet Prophet of the Night.
Only you could fathom All:

Broken windows of the Soul;
Nightless smiles, and daytime Owls
Who, in smooth cadence walked,
stepping into voids of
Coin,
selling their skin;
conjuring
The Harlem Dark,
Of their opaque,
blythe...
Lost Dream.

J. Eduardo Ramos©