The moon throbs an ugly red,
Clouds lurch over the buildings.
No steps except my own, but I still expect
A face to float in the distance, within
The yellow of a streetlamp’s glare.
I move across the cobblestone,
A feeling hangs from the black
Branches. I will never get there.
The stars breathe cold and eye
The windows which never see.
When the sun reaches stone
I will be shadow again.
Written for OLWG #214.