by Ronald E. Shields
Last night I devoured a wing of fire.
Now I wait alone
beneath the final whisper of stars in a casting sky.
The city is still dark.
If only rain would wash away the stains of the night
leave the streets to shine like chrome under arc lamps.
But some human beings need to linger in the half-light,
drift in the sharp angles of tall shadows,
even as the day breaks open.
Ronald E. Shields lives in Rochester, NY.
He can be found at poetryontherun.wordpress.com
and @ronaldanne or on FB Ronald E. Shields.