A pass between
the ceiling stints,
ivy sinews,
and unhinged bricks.
The broken glass
still shifts and cracks
in narrow steps
of a time passed.
Streams of oil,
weaving between,
to a seamless,
tar and fissure,
smoke clouds pummel,
passing stranger,
surging street lights,
to the waves of.
On the edge of
the coming rain,
consignment times
as beauty lies.