That distant
cityscape is a glimmering
open wound.
Trying to say
its beautiful,
words fall; water
from my eyes.

Walking down the path
tree-lined street lit
red in streetlight.
No cars just breeze
something like stillness, I
hear water streaming.
Crickets sing too.

Closing my eyes, but
an airplane hisses a
train hollers

That running water, how
beautiful a sound
is a sewer.
That ocean sound I dreamt
is a sea of traffic.

First dewdrop of the evening
is Moon’s.
Her tears
the only way she
can touch the trees.