Barely a haze on

the horizon as my

machine tools around

another corner on my

way home

a dim orange

street light

not the bright

fluorescent kind

they use now in

the cities

coming up over

the hill as the

moths cast

monstrous shadows

upon the road

trailing off into

the dark spaces

between lamps

passing silently by

closed tire stores

closed florists

a closed city hall

all bathed in

a cold blue metal

tint; the tint of

midnight

under which all the

night creatures crawl

as few as there are

myself included

moving still

past the bulwark

of day

in those in-between

hours that...

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