XIII

Fingers of daylight close

like an empty fist.

The city is darker than black.

The day's almost midnight

and secrets have been passed.

Drunken words for a sober mind.

Drunken mind for a sober world.

Blue notes from a jazz cafe

escape into the streets.

The snow was falling,

melting as it landed on our faces

like a gentle rain.

The words falling from our lips

like broken satellites.

We made fake smoke rings

with our breath and watched them

orbit our heads.

The cold cuts like a slow-drawn dagger

regardless of how many layers

we armored ourselves with.

And the cold.

And the words.

And the merrily music.

And the night.