the sunset
and it’s fury beating-
stretching across your face
restricting, conforming
thin plastic over space

this city dies every night
born again each morning to fresh laundry
and hot trash
steaming in the beaten streets

this city is beating
thousands of hearts clapping
at our own demise
muffled, behind closed doors
hidden, like the heart of our one, true
glorified,
dead God

in church halls and train station platforms
he sings at sunset and again each dawn
at every note his hand
reaching out to you
across impossible time

the wheels of shopping carts all screeching his name
his message, his orchestra

but our struggle, our bleeding
just for this love-
stifled and fleeting,
but
still beating in our stolen,
swollen hearts