The Arcaneness of Night
Location
Blaring horns
Form melodies,
The familiar tune:
That of the night,
That of the rush.
The 3am toms
Prowl fire escapes;
The midnight tramps
Nod off in doorways.
Rising steam, lazily
Drifting from manholes,
Illuminated by
Leaves in hustlers’ flames.
Screams in alleyways,
Laughter in swarms:
A fine purée under awnings,
The fine highlights.
Piercing highlights,
Like blinding headlights,
Passing as patrol cars,
Turn ruckus to silence
And night into day.