It moves
over tunnels and overpasses
swimming pools
and hospitals It moves
with funnels of clouds
and rains like steam engines
on the parched mouth of suburb
and hooded stars
—over insomniacs
hissing coffee pots
slow march of ticking digits
over voices of exiles
bigots zealots
fortune tellers and sleepwalkers
over silos and refineries
glinting
like fabled palaces
It moves
over the decrepitated town’s
shuttered cinema inn
a nature museum
Over
the narrow road to prison
a utopian farm’s
three-legged barn relics
memories finally ownerless—
The night moves
over us too
ensconced
in the catacomb of sleep
in time’s fidelity
published by Cargo Literary Journal