Wading through the misty lamp-lit streets
I stumble upon a pigeon at a windowsill, and dream
You shan’t ever know of all the ambiguous witching hours
Between yesterday and today, with all of their thoughts
Thoughts falling in fragments like the clouds
Precipitating toward the earth, and down
Down through channels and meandering roads
To other convergences with birds
It’s a sudden flood through weary avenues
And surrender to the evening powers –
I scarcely thought I’d see me sleep
And shed persistent reveries flitting brief
And will you shed your ghostly handle on my being?
I’ve slipped out the bedroom window, and yet you watch me dream
Desiccated passageways between the lamp-lit districts
Of you and I, and on my way I paused beside a windowsill
From which I saw it fly.
