the hard pavement brittle and broken to one side
the other only a place for the breezes of swift metal
keeping eye to the small pebbles a pace ahead
i venture up the river of dirt and rusted cans
the trapped paper bearing sad tidings of yesterday
and the cast off cloth of some
middle of the night maiden seeking fresh appearance

i glance up to gauge the travels remaining me
but catch only the watching eye
of a shadow neighbour and his questionable dog
its head to one side as it figures the angles
and debates the meanings
i return to the gutters skeletons
rusted cans and bottles
the cast off of passers by
and the sorrowful deposits of a mournful winter wind
a shattered lightbulb
out in the field
what could it have lit in such a foreign place
who could have forsaken its warm glow
in such a strange place

i tread on
but find no signature
of this nameless faceless soul
who once stood
on the edge of this tarmac
and lit the world with a hot and urgent shout
now only trampled dust remains
with the crushed cans
and trapped papers
only a minor sketch
in a world of masterpieces in motion
but while it lasted it was her hand in mine
walking home to that room
just one night in a lifetime of nights
but what a night
what a woman