The city has a susurrus tonight
The thrum of far-off traffic and the swish of near,
The high ratchet of the tree-crickets.
The whoosh of the wind in the turning trees,
The staccato crackle of leaves underfoot,
And a far-off train whistle,
And a hint of thunder, later.
And my footsteps.
And my breath.
Combine to make a thick,
I’ll serve it to you, in gray and smoky flavors.
It smells like distant rain and halogen headlights.
It looks like promised dawn.