twilight creeps in

with the gold dust,

and broken handles of windows
candle bulbs in our towers

crossed by the weakening

dark and purple

we’re hearing the low shadows

and the breath

of the city in cotton

the clapping of shoes

and ice cream buds strapped

into waffle petals, the

ringing of the evening star is

loudest in the dimness

her matchbox beds

and cat’s eye doors
are welcome mats of concrete

resting like open graves.

[Artwork by  Harriet Lee-Merrion]

 Death and Los Angeles is available here: 


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