A Day Without

dark pavement covered with wind-blown leaves tonight, every object shining in the midnight gutters is at first a quarter. my hand fights to keep the hair out of my face the shape of the gesture reminds me of you & places less cold than the sidewalk of this forgotten town. thoughts: something about the way you mentioned my wings as though they'd be obvious to every eye or that touch in a not so distant moment this dream made real something i'm scared i'll wake from. i think it will be a while, before i find that quarter. how long until morning?