Fireflies at dawn
the stars are finally gone
light comes from within

Release me, Brooklyn
from the skin I’ve grown
but still take me in

An epiphany
can be a slip of paper
hanging from your fridge

How small a corner
as a hurricane rages
two crickets still chirp

The night is alive
A cicada symphony
cut with speeding cars

Lightening flashes through
burns a wild, erratic fuse
the stars are scrubbed clean

I should walk a mile
on another man’s egg shells
before I can crack

If I drew a blank
then how could it still be blank?
I got nothing here

Soaked in summer sweat
can memories leave the skin
just as easily?