Nightfall blinks
beyond the window-glass,
sharp-eyed and beckoning
beneath a streetlamp.
Drops an ethereal rain
between the brick-and-metal
of this old town,
throws a sheet of fog
between car-lights
and yellow-lit squares
of window,
a pale divide drawn
between me
and that other world.
An old clock
in the room beyond
ticks arithmetically,
I pour wine, yawn,
give into the whims
of Kerouac and candlelight.