The swarming city comes alive
when the sun goes down.
Shadows rush through dark alleys.
You listen as she talks —
crinkled white cigarette
dangling
from red-slashed lips.
Coffee-purple hair
a personality of its own.
Eyes rimmed in charcoal
and resilience,
blazing black
pupils pooling
in hazel gold irises.
Slow
steps
and
swinging
hips
down rain-glistening street,
she owns all the spaces around her.
Yet nighttime brings out a different city.
It’s the silence that makes you look up;
the street is too quiet.
Sun is gone but shadows are moving.
You make out the shapes
walking
slowly
— five of them—
toward you in the dark.
