There was a buzzing
in a heaven of clouds.
A horn from the alley
brought down the house
of pigeons. The air
transformed into a night
beauty. Neon’s and back
doors offered a refueling
of the psychological
mortgage. Voices from the
second floor rejoice between
the folds of buildings. When
night and dark mix, the full
skin of the city bandages
itself. Nursing the sad of day
with refreshing drinks satisfies
the anxiety within.
Roger Singer 