Tonight the city is a memory
and memory is only a shell
circada-skin, containing the image
thereof, but with no soul.
Tonight I move in shadows,
in fact I am an abstract shade myself,
describing only absence of the light
more so than any object in relief.
Tonight there is a silent space
where once we took the stage;
cruel peace descends upon us
as we begged for, in the world-that-was.
Tonight she shines above the city
in solemn grace the moon ascends
quietly to observe, with neither fear nor joy
the shape of places we no longer go.
April 2020
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