THAT CITY AT NIGHT

The light begins to leave and then the old city is left to itself and the evening. What it will do is anyone`s guess. The old graveyards sit high on knolls and are quiet. Their gates, usually black wrought iron gates, are nearly always open. People just past by and you would be lucky to see a car pull in there. Old tombstones, rocks, - watering cans, - and someone must go there because the eye can see the small and large flowers affixed to things, lying down, - flowers that rest with the departed. And what of the old factories (broken question mark key). They wait, old tethered bricks,- if you look  closely each brick has a story,- faded, not so faded,- cracked, water got in,- slightly compromised,- marred is the word that comes mostly to mind. Yet there is something there- isn’t there- the fact that the old warehouses and factories still stand, - and sometimes from the streets there are parts that can be seen right through, like the barns when the setting sun is on the other side of them. Pallets, bay doors, - old, incredibly old windows dirty with grime and glue, with decades of stories nobody wants to hear now. Well, the sun will shine on it all in the morning. But first the night- with its possible spectres, for certain winds and cricket sounds. The old lake is up the way from the highway and down the way from the graveyards. Vessels bob up and down a bit, slumbering themselves at the inlets and docks. The city behind is full of electrical lights- blue, yellow, green, white, - even purple. It is alive- but mostly it is for the people that have business, friendships, courtships, and so forth- there. But, it still gives its light to all- like the sun. Maybe it has no choice. And the lovers walk across the boardwalk- hand in hand, whispering things, soft and easy, happily languid, serene, silhouetted against some light from the water`s way or else the back drop of the electrical lights,- of the city at night.

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