I’m bending toward sleep
crickets sound like cracking backs
fall sway the weary

The brush of my breath
strums the broken-down guitar
that sits behind me

Window-frames rattle
in the last wind from Brooklyn
yup, I’m outta here

The wick still flickers
in a candlelight vigil
for the flame itself

How dim the star is
reaching above tree branches
like a supplicant

Blinking red tower
casts a lonely semaphore
an owl hoots his own