Deserted streets.
The compact cars, their pilots
fled. Planes carve the air,
trains stitch the land,
Chasing distant hills,
Fleeing fires of work,
The alchemy of wealth.
Do you dream, city,
In your sudden quiet?
Do you cleanse your veins,
Clear the star-flecked night,
Bat-free and velvet?
Dream like me
Of a single golden fish,
Abandoned neighbor\'s charge,
Swimming in circles,
Dirty water his sky,
Halo-glow through grime,
Sanctified behind glass.