it's dark now, as the car rolls from the parking garage.
the street lights flash across your foreign face, and you look out in awe.
have you never seen this city at night?
i wish you could see more of it, tonight, with me.
here is no manhattan, no times square, but you are entranced.
reflections slide across the glass panel and spill over into our hands,
yours folded politely in your lap.
our futures are not over, but will soon ­disentangle themselves,
and separate, and the images painting their dreams on our legs
will soon become only memories, have ­already become simple memories
of one night in this city,
accompanied by smooth street noise and the hum of the accelerator.
did you catch those moments, or let them slip away?
it's dark now, and i'll never know the answer