Cecilia Lee

June dusk and the air 

is like water 

pouring over your 

skin the dark is rest 

for your eyes the night 

is bounty. Dusk and 

the cavernous sky 

arches over the  

asphalt, the cars, the  

shopping carts — now  

all disconnected parts, 

your movements 

untethered under 

artificial light.

This is the moment

when noise slips 

under the drone 

of the expressway; 

it mutes clatter,  

insects, speech — 

passing cars flicker 

under sterile light. 

Dew clings 

to the surface 

of metal corrals 

and come morning, 

there will be a trace 

of frost over grass tips.