Twilight, Chicago

A poem about imagination and Chicago's shores at night.

Shades,
shading the
mistakes.
Out goes the
imperfection
with the black
night of summer
or the howling
night of winter.

Imagination
moons, Diana.
I will hunt you
on the edge
of lakes with
hungry lights
drawing out
a city sketch.

There will be
the evening,
ancient, crawling
the secret shores.
No fear,
it will either
hide or seek us out.
The gesture of
the dawn predicts,
nights truth
indeterminable.

There is no
invitation
to this game.
You are here
nonetheless,
crunching the
snow after
a silent blizzard.
You are here,
in the twilight hours,
trespassing.

I have found
the empty
liquor bottle that
has made you drunk.
Winter has fled,
now the
water's edge
is for us.

Indulge in the
lonesome
void
that seems
to lunge
at the sky
and the city
in defiance.

A sign points
to the facet of
the edge of
the known world,
watch yourself
fall off of it,
watch yourself
dangle, and drop.