In the still and chilly night a shadowy figure presses on,
Not in haste, but with leisure’s gait mocking the somber
Waning day, insouciant he the evening face.
Fluorescent street lamps crackle and hum piercing the growing dun
With circles of unnatural light, catching a cat slinking across
The street to do whatever cats do in the tenebrous night.
Teenagers hurry past trying to beat their curfew home
Eating dinners kept on covered with foil, while birds
Are nesting, children’s baths are being drawn.
Everyone’s home living rooms glow out to the street
Televisions flicker, the world is winding down and life is driven
Indoors, where old couples watch game shows and young lovers bicker.
A cold breeze rises stirring dead leaves, their colors unseen
Swirling around the evening walker, the sound rustles
And tumbles like water spilling over its bound.
Radio towers blink red on distant hills like so many
Festive beacons, warning some and beckoning others,
While trees become indecipherable looming demons.
Lightsome the figure presses on undeterred by even looming,
Seeing the moon emerge only to disappear behind the moving clouds,
Yet on he goes into the night where at last our paths diverge.