edge of the river at night

The stoplight blinks.

Rain runs in rivulets across the pavement,

downhill. Slanting towards the drenched

earth, the eventual eternal grave.

And yellow puddles in shining smears,

reflections in the water, runny

memories of the streetlamps up above.

A concrete slab overlooks the river,

with two hands set firmly on the

steel railing, holding on.

Unwilling to depart.

The gurgle of an engine, sputtering.

Turning over and over and over

like their stomach. They watch the

car choke, watch the steam rising

from the exhaust pipe.

Rain has soaked them to the bone,

the car roars and the stoplight

floods the puddles with streaks of

red light. It pulls away, splashing

water, ignoring the light, taking

the sound with it.

Silent, as the reflections of the

night sky blur into the ground,

into the river, into their very

soul. Night becomes the air

becomes their clothes, hands,

neck. They try to keep their

head above the surface as the

unending night slips into a

watery reflection of blackness

and stars.