Walking The Dog

July 4, 2010:

I hold the night in my palm, walking down West End,
ambulance lights' shimmering red reflections on my legs.

Ahead I see your hair: black silk overwhelming your shirt's red.
I hold the night in my palm, walking down West End,

drawn to you like a dog, or a woman, black-satin-bound
to your bed. (Lilacs mingled with wisteria, on the nights

when black satin bound me to your bed.) Now I hold
the night in my palm, walking down West End.