For my money
No one has ever correctly painted the night
With its charcoals of light rubbed over drowning waters
Stars flaming out above and stars immersed below
The improvised desires never fully drawn
To proper scale, the vanishing point that
Re-emerges later on in twisted dreams
The night properly fenced and framed
Shows luminous hands and eyes at the window
Heads lined up and down the bar viewed from the
Cold precincts of 3 a.m.
Melodies hewn of warm flesh and glowing blue
Sweeping letters above the clerestory
At the top of the hilltop lounge
Why, yes, there's much night
In all of this and more
Time to ski diddle down the empty streets
Trying every door to see if it is the one
Marked Paradise
One flight up.
I'll meet you coming the other way