The Stalking Moon

 

the heavenly body of record
lest you forget
crushes petty complaint
beneath its rocky seas
and pulls the tides
to cool work-weary feet
 
the stalking moon
sees you home
knowing twinkle in the sky
 
it lets you know
in the worst of sorrow
that there is still
another tomorrow

Times Square At Night

 

good in small doses;
a rose
to decades gone,  
everywhere still a hustle
but now more staged
than uncaged
 
pastel pixels
light the stage
where a thousand characters
ply their trade
as police horses
clack past
 
a pause
to be a tourist
in our own city,
to bask in the false light
and gawk at the nightlife
 
we snap a photo,
a million souls
anonymous, yet immortalized
in an instant

Night drive

 

red moon presides
over a harvest-cold sky,
a right light
for the night drivers
 
fortress trucks
scream speed
from behind their running lights,
knowing they will never
run out of road
 
and the car drivers,
gunning hard to steam past,
rejoice in the easy swoosh
of smooth blacktop,
the lull of the radio,
and the sweet nirvana
of just going