Above the Brooklyn buildings of brown bricks
Along the Bronx-bound train and traces of belated cabs
My sight is flying...
The night is bearing it across a bridge,
There and about on its wings.
The crimson blind rays of dying sun -
They bash onto the brook and splash
With a bark of a bull dog,
I'm coming home, not having left it for a while,
Rewinding backward the tape of my memory...
Bach's fugue, Beethoven's bagatelle...
All music is absorbed by th'night.
My brandy bleaches the darkness of the absence of a bulb.
Behold, I'm becoming a shadow of myself.
Brooklyn, NY, 10 October, 2008.