With the Dawn
Admiration for those able to discover
sublimation in the tracks left by coyotes
in the snow; envy, as well, when one
captures the scent of honeysuckles in bloom
on a balmy July twilight. Here, beneath
sodium lights and stale cigarette smoke,
beauty assumes different gradations.
across the room, someone stirs
an amaretto sour they have been nursing
for over an hour, each sip a prayer to lesser gods
from the pantheon of loneliness. Each time
a couple leaves, the glass empties a bit. Another
follows another before the lights
send the solitary out into the shadowscape.
Before the sun
spreads warmth to staggered patches of asphalt,
I will stop and breathe deep the diesel fumes
of my people in this concrete wilderness,
and I will feel gratitude when I see the streetlights
flicker on once more.