wet gutter stone
submerged in the rill
blackheavy and round
and the weight beneath me:
a smooth cold killer of light

night is a forest
wet banquet of noise
small epiphany’s happening at street lights
and wild-life electric

far off are the radios
the occasional violence
hits the melancholy,
hangs with urban drifters
patches up a night sky

night is a forest, a jungle of audible character
damp activity
light and shape struggle to hold meaning,
as momentary glimpses
glistening with hope
capture an uncertain semaphore