The Poet Sings of the City at Night


it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Always beautiful at night
The shadows somehow calling
I hear rain lightly falling
And just memory is sight
A plaintive, indifferent sound
Reflection running on the ground;

Always beautiful at night
A deep breath, a weary groan
To but see the lights of home
Steam draft catches flight
A world without length or breadth
And a thousand layered depth;

Always beautiful at night
A distant sound of moving cars
A siren flash beneath the stars
Footsteps pacing, ever-slight
Tires crunch and tires slick
The sound of evening is thick;

Always beautiful at night
The melancholy of old Noir
Under heavy clouds that soar
Dropping noise into your sight
Bright, bright, bright and mystery
Night hiding what you cannot see

Always beautiful at night
Dark towers cast against a cloud
Fast-moving, the wind is loud
And portend a sleeping might
A hundred specters without depth
Still in form the shadows leapt;

Always beautiful at night
Sky colored of another world
Racing clouds their courses swirled
Jet blinking eyes, an errant kite
A searchlight dances up and down
Against a tower, about the town;

Always beautiful at night
Lights twain in every sitting pool
Green and red and white may fool
Drooping and blinking sight
To see the street bedecked with cheer
To see the closing of the year;

Always beautiful at night
Neon's warm and handsome glow
Offices wink above, and it below
Green and yellow, red and white
And blue and every brazen face
Letters of dreams they still may trace;

Always beautiful at night
The shining towers exhilarate
The stars beyond will have to wait
They hum with other-worldly light
They stand tall, and brazen and gay
But vanish in the coming day.

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