Crawling against the crowd
you frighten, how close you tease the edge
the water, leaping over itself, nipping at its own heels.
Tonight what you've been searching for ceases to call,
the wilted violets flutter, ridiculous
amongst the fumes, these lights, this concrete.
You exchange courtesies with the trees
they are loyal, wise
reaching their fingers skywards
with the grace of a ballerinas' hand.
The pookah grins
with the flare of a roman candle,
perched in his basket of branches
the tree, a boned claw
rooted in the underworld.