Traffic lights and dusty doorways
reaching for me as the day goes dark
as I hide in the shadows of solitude
crunching leaves on the path in the park
these windswept towers on the boulevard
have no solace or a means of defense
the hot dog vender slowly pushing his cart
heading for a night’s forgiveness
so faded and fragile the hours transpose
to the snap of the ice in my whiskey
transparent and pastel the scene dissolves
to my hands hovering over the keys
the corner café’s empty tables and chairs
inside the barkeep cleans his crystal glass
watching the window for a change of light
and maybe a smile on a pretty face
dusty taxis challenge all the lights
their whining brakes examples of real restraint
while I search the windshield for holy lands
with maybe some blessings from the saints