Walking at Night

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Above the concrete sky, and

the rest of the whimsy,

we could’ve been real.

But you looked down

and laughed,

and wasn’t I cute?

So I pointed for you,

to the flat place in the sky

where it all caves in, and I

guided your hand like a bug on water

all legs and skittish muscles,

and I opened your palm, like a flower blooms,

and I helped string down the moonlight,

so it could fall on your skin.

You laughed again,

and asked where we would go next,

your eyes flat and matte and dead as paved ground,

and you looked away from me,

and the moonlight’s gaze in my reflection.