in rain-slick alleys, phantom cats parade for love
each shadow-form a hope, each hope a shade at night
November whispers false leads through the copper leaves
while searchers’ hearts grow hollow, unafraid at night
your desperate calls echo down empty streets until
you find that death’s the only serenade at night
that little pink tongue tells the truth we would not hear:
all searching ends in grief—the price we paid at night
what did you think would happen in these darker hours?
the living seek the lost, but both must fade at night