clarendon

in pools of light, the city gives you only rough contours. lines of brick and spirals of wire are the signs that guide you. the skeletons of factories and lines of cars by parking meters rear up out of the darkness, like an endless crowd of set and hostile faces. then among them you see pairs, hand in hand, lovers on their way from one place of light to another. her long brown hair bounces and you see his breath as he speaks. her long bright scarf and the flash of his watch. her and him. you reach across the darkness and take his hand. you fall into that pool too deep either for the darkness or for the light.