these days are mostly dark
a trick of latitude

headlights, brakelights
strung like beads

throughout the hills—
everything beyond them

the arras of night
even knowing well

the trees, the park
even seeing them aglow

in the low strange sunset
not one hour ago

I am now uncertain
the cars pass and pass by

like electrons in their tracks
there are no stars

there is no sky
just an aperture thrown open

an expectant thing
a little north of dread