Tonight I am conscious of the lonely streets.
The wind is cool and the trees undulate with ease
no one sees them dance with grace
in this dark hour.

There is something about
the sky
there are no stars.
A gray haze
has settled above like dew,
but there is no moisture,
except for the tears of my past.

I drag my feet because my goosebumps embrace emotion.
I am just a man walking the streets,
hands in pockets and eyes that see nowhere.

Why do leaves fall so peacefully when they die?