cx.

the mountains dark arms open
blue grey twilight glowing cool and bright above them
lamps above shadowed buildings, at the entrance
gleaming by the slope

in the parking lot still and quiet, breeze
whisking a few leaves across the dark gray asphalt

the light pooling across the lines
warm and golden behind the screen
moving behind the counter
     kids running around the tables--

so the night's like a coat,

      --at the corner, he's wearing feathers and stripes
         for Samhain--

I made a ghost-list
to list my dead,

the name and date, I remember them
      --briefly, each
I think well of them
and I hope they're well

the soft burnt scent of summer falling to fall
hangs over the cement
the sliver moon and one star hanging next to the radio tower
the lights, cupped, gleam across the brick wall

the headlights streaming slowly
across the intersection
streaming steadily above the divider
the street makes a living altar of the night