silver planes with cracks that run
deep below the surface
soot settled because
up here there are no
strong breaths of expectation
a storm blew in when the sun
stumbled and fell below the buildings
I hardly noticed the taste of night
another night, a sweeter smoke
a smell that's worth remembering
these were books not meant to be read
but your fingers were gentle
and the pages turned easy
stories of then and now
wouldn't ask anything more than honest
tomorrow when the frost reminds me
of the first snow
and the gentler arms
I will slide soles into city
and ask nothing but honest
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