But why to light
the concrete or the iron pipe?
The halogenic halos holding steady in the night
Coarse and auburn bodies border
A Balcony that stands alone.
Spider webs of cold blue steel swallow and surround her back
And lampposts only break against the rock.
The time is right to make
A wish against the night;
Bird awaits, and calls his mate.
While she waxes romance
And whose leather tongue is rolling ever wisely from her perch,
On adjacent routes.
The air surrounds his shoulders with
a warm, moist shawl. The pavement shimmers,
damp with evening dew
that carries through the air
the scent, the sensation
of still something new:
I look to the ledge whereon
our fateful boot awaits,
and the bird still sings:
I will meet you here, upon
this floating chandelier.
A beckon. A beacon. A black woman
I laugh and walk away.
The man inside the van was never there.
The bird still lies.
The boot is not a pug:
The boot still lies.