Deep blue facade overlooks
a disorienting expanse of trees
whose branches spread out
like moths, deep indigo
easing between their wings.
The world exists in
secret alcoves with sepia
faces that form mosaics of
Beneath a streetlamp on the
boulevard Garbo holds a cigarette
between fingers the color of birch.
In sleepless nights I drift on a river
of primeval dreams waiting for you to
show me there is nothing ordinary
about the dark.