there are nights like these
when the cars grow hushed
and sing like crickets, when
the city lights waver in starbursts,
nights like these when memories
become infinite in your palms –
nights like these when coney island
smells like chipped bread and gasoline,
when lilac water laps a ruined shore,
a plastic beach of discarded things –
nights like these when it is okay
to keep walking, when sunshine
hides behind the gray-blue clouds,
nights like these when secrets are
traded between three girls on a
deserted baseball field –
nights like these when the quicksilver
flash of cameras fills the darkness
and laughter rises easily to the lips
and pours out like honey –
nights like these (when pollution clogs
out the stars and promises of the future
are sketched and silhouettes fade into
the horizon) slip through my fingers
and suddenly are no more –