Night-slipping

i.
This,
my favourite season.
Warm, mid-twenties days,
nights cool enough
for sweaters
{though my inner-Canadian
scoffs. Toughs it out.}

ii.
Young lovers
in Chinatown
seem unburdened
entirely
without care.
Perhaps
this is true.
Or a trick
twilight
plays
on my eyes
or
their hearts.

iii.
I
too
feel an
unburdening
these days.
Light like stars,
slipping through,
a shimmering
ghost.
Here but somewhere else.

iv.
We follow
comets
couples
salary men
through side streets
heavy with lanterns.
Luminescent woman
in red.
Cook steals
a quiet moment
in the alley.
Peace,
a commodity,
the bread of our time.
{I hope he’s not caught
with that time on his hands.}
Two sharp young men
emerge from a restaurant,
all long strides
and confidence.
Pools of white light
splash out onto sidewalks
from restaurants
where diners are tucked
safe inside
like a doll’s house.

v.
We slip away.

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