Rainy Night In Montreal
Heartache of angels
crying
on the shoulder
of Mother,
on droopy skies,
of vanilla grey.
Fruits of light
dangle from trees,
Lighting
the vanilla
of the night.
Highways
filled with horns,
stuck in traffic.
Everyone
chats in whisper.
No piping
from the whistler,
moving carts
for hordes
in the caves,
rolling thousands
by minutes.
Plenty talk
with paranoia
some read,
some knit,
while others swear.
Air is rusty
and cold,
vapour like,
To the breathe
and form ice.
On a rainy night
in Montreal
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