As neon pulses through a sleepless night,
The sidewalks bustle with wandering ghosts,
And vapor rises — a mist of pale steam
From streets that glint beneath an autumn rain.

I see a woman in a ruby coat;
Her shadow pools round her feet, like spilled ink,
As she tries to mouth a name through the haze —
A name unheard over the subway’s groan.

She’s gone before the streetlights flicker, but
Her shadow lingers a moment longer,
Stretching out beneath the gilded lamplight —
But was she ever even there at all?

No answer falls with the September rain,
No hint comes drifting on the pallid mist.
And still the train rumbles on unconcerned,
And I can’t recall why she had mattered.

The neon curdles within its veins,
While darkness swallows the ruby echo,
And I walk these streets among the phantoms,
To fade at last into the night once more.
©️2025 David Cornetta

The cold night’s howling wind was touching my face during the ride on rolling wheels with thinking heart, on the roads of Minna—the western bypass.

I was with two eager eyes and two lonely palms when I left my sister’s café to you, somewhere around 8:45pm

Some minutes later I saw the gas station sitting at the peace of your neighborhood in that sunless dark hour with quiet moon in half majesty.

The gas station was scanty, maybe due to the hour.
And I saw that fruit-seller whose art of arranging fruits is always something to marvel upon.

I was glad to witness how great distance reduced into yonder, bringing two hearts closer.

I took a right turn, passed that small women saloon on the walkway,
Then down the road to your parents' house.

I saw you and finally my lonely palm held another lonely palm like we were reading love poems in the touch.
My eager eyes saw you—you walking art of the Divine.
I saw those brows and eyes that I placed above mine.

The cold you caught last week denied my ears the clearness of your voice, but my heart heard it all.
It was feminine, sweet, delicate, sweet, melodious, sweet. My best song is this voice, yes. It is sweet.

Seconds dissolved quickly, birthing minutes until I must say goodbye, and unhold, and unsee. I knew that closeness will again turn to yonder, and it will extend, and distance will be in between our hearts again.

Upon leaving I saw the headlights as they were uniting with the working streetlights of your neighborhood, unlike the faulty ones standing at my side of Minna.
A truck approached us and I crossed the road backwards, so I can watch you laugh and walk away.

That reckless act was done by the union of the romantic in me and my inner child. If it had led me to injuries or to freedom from mortality, wouldn't that have been a good way to go? From a night ride on western bypass to see you, to a soul’s night flight to heaven watching you.

Two tender eyes
witnessed our love, my love:
a black velvet night
and a red, trembling rose.

The night, alas,
whirled past the galaxy,
then dissolved
in heaven’s warm embrace.
I remember...
why don’t you?

O rose! My red rose,
the envoy of longing,
the whisper of my heart,
gifted into your palms.
Neck so proud, head held high,
you plucked her down,
petal by petal,
with your playful, wicked fingers
as you looked through me.

And now you ask,
Love? What love?
Ah, if only my life
could turn to a pilgrimage,
wandering in search
of that night we lost.

Let me breathe my soul
into the withered bloom,
so night and rose return,
and bear their silent witness:
yes, you loved me too.

I crack it open softly
letting a single sliver of soft golden light
pour in, a solitary ray of sunshine breaking
through the clouds.
I hear the whisper of her steady breathing,
rhythmic waves ebbing and flowing,
on the slow inhale of the sea.
Her old penny copper hair twinkles in the light,
strands borrowed from a seraph's braid.
I envy her easy slumber,
the way her lips part with the stillness
of full relaxation.
I tiptoe across the carpet,
a sentinel seeking to capture the moment
in a bottle, or in my marrow.
I sit beside her and marvel at the miracle of her,
how she was forged from my very blood,
from my very bones,
smirking; she has my spirit too.
The world will not be ready,
not for her fierce blue eyes,
nor the blade I'll teach her to wield with her tongue
and a spine that won't need fire to be steeled.
I kiss the top of her resting head;
she does not stir.
I retreat in tiptoe,
close it delicately behind me,
and I pray.
I pray she never forgets the joy
of floating bubbles.
I pray she always uses the word NO
as powerfully as the age of 3 declares it.
I pray she will continue to run to me,
for hugs,
for comfort from every dark,
for love that will cover over every hurt,
and tend to every need.
And I pray she could always know this peace
and the guard of a door
opened and closed
by a heart, humbled and grateful.

When spirit called, I chose the flame,
To walk the earth and bear a name.
But did I see the depths ahead—
The nights so dark, the tears I’d shed?

To feel the ache that breaks apart
The boundless edges of the heart.
To lose myself, to fall, to grieve—
And still, in silence, not to leave.

Like stars that fall yet do not die,
Like wings that form before they fly,
I sank into the chrysalis—
A holy womb of pain and bliss.

Yes — I knew. I heard the song.
That pulled my soul where I belong.
To feel what angels only dream:
The raw divine in each extreme.

Bloom it all or blow it all,
The character has done it all.
Why do you hide? Why don’t you shine?
The world is hard, the price feels fine.

Define yourself—write through the night.
The place is quiet, yet you cried.
Find the paper, find the light,
Stick to the bed, write something right.

Love is false—yet somehow right,
Still, you fight in this long night.
Your blood says it all,
Your time isn't bright.
Yet still you fight to define the night,
To learn the quiet,
To reach the site.

Long hair, pretty face, bright eyes,
Dressed your beauty in this rhyme.
Hiding from you, writing for you,
Admiring the last of you.

Don’t want money,
Don’t know the game,
The beauty is lost,
The rhyme is plain.

cracks in my knuckles,
notches in my palms,

I fantasize that
you braid my hair and
us lying
       curled around eachother
on my bed.
you
       breathing soflty
inside my arms
as we look
       through the roof's window
at the night,
       crashing gently.

I´ve shed my thoughts
into the silence of nights
nowhere to run,
I´m holding the gun.

I´m the one
trying to outrun,
hosting the hunt,
running at the front.

I´m my own prey,
gasping for the airway,
catching myself at the bay.

I want to be targeted,
not for you to misinterpret
I´d love to witness
my breath quickness,
how you´d hunt me-
then I´d be free.

With every breath I count,
there are few I miscount,
there´s one I´d steal
from you, to heal.

I’ll take this panic attack
And drive her car right off the road
Off the bridge, that sinking feeling
About to sleep and not explode

In the shadow of water
I know your true face.
not in the shadow
but in the feeling of
being in it.

…do you understand?

there’s a coolness
that wraps around me
just right,
like when evening comes
and the southern sun
finally relents its strength of illumination
to the unknowing of night.

through the shade of a wave
opaque enough to dilute
the intensity of the light
but not enough
to stop it from reaching me,
I recognize you.  

who are you
that you should linger
in my inner sight
like a sunspot
staining my vision wherever I look,
changing colors
behind my closed eyes?

a stranger?

perhaps I’ve known you
in other lives.
maybe we were lovers.
maybe we were almost lovers.
maybe this is our dance.
we circle each other
like leaves in an eddy,
a brief swirl of proximity
before we’re shot back out
to the flow of the river
like children on a slide,
laughing in our innocence—
in our ignorance.

then comes the
inevitable separation,
the distance,
the peculiar ambiguity
we wear like a skin—
like a camouflage.

but I still see you,
from time to time,
behind the eyes of a stranger

and

I still feel you
whenever I am in
the shadow of water.