Nocturne

white soles

in car headlights

a couple of halos

on my feet

halos scrape

along cracked gray pavement

through matted oragne leaves

off-kilted tandem

with a couple of black boots

heel-toe

heel-toe

click-clack

clack-click

they march

a procession I witness

because I can’t meet Your eyes tonight

most nights I say I’m busy

some nights I am

soft glow of computer screen

a silent scream

this light

whispers sweet nothings

to my unseeing eyes

tonight we march

under celestial street lights —

sterile

electric constellation suspended

impassive angels between and betwix

looking down on us

I can’t see Lyra tonight

wrought iron bench

blue and brown and orange

molted metal

cold through jeans

under weeping willow

nocturne umbrage

it is dark

Orpheus whistles in the leaves

no divinity here

as you say

I love you