Photograph by André Kertész

Artificial light slices right angles –

blackened brick corner, crumbling stair, crammed-

together buildings too many teeth in a mouth.

Laundry line and telephone line

outlined brightly. This night, half-light

in empty alleys is less longing,

less an ache than eked-out, shadow-strewn

generosity, though everyone's asleep. No –

gone, by now. What promise is this?

– held together in narrow dark spaces,

in small frames and forms.

An instant's feeling extends through, as if it's

anything to do with you.