Night falls, further than usual.
An army of Chinese lanterns
constellates above you.
Streetlights are brighter than the moon.
Step on neighbourhood leaves.
A shaky glance down the alley:
a frog looks back.
Walk into tomorrow’s cobwebs;
thank the car that almost hit you,
headlights like a sun that rose for you alone,
looked you over: all that will be, all that won’t be.
A bin man’s demonic laughter.