The trees rise out of the
thick fog. Dinosaurs with headlight
eyes cruise through the muslin. White women wander in the
night weeping sprays of perfume. Light streaming through
leaves Heralds the presence of a
god. On some corner under an elm the moonshell of a young
women opens.
The streets clairvoyant and
shining, houses enclosed in
membranes, people asleep wrapped in
soft eyelids, lone cats vanish in the
shadows.
The satyr passes out of the
park. His hoofprints turn the tar
to loam. Pythons are roped across
branches. The vapors of our dreams are breathing in the street.
