after Jean Toomer

Hear stolen tires squeal the rounds.

Creep into the deep of night.

See moon-shine full through bare-

branched trees, shine bright.

Blood-burning moon.  Sinner!

Step out and feel the fell of dark.

Blue dealers flash their wares.

A black cat pads the street.

Someone shoots into the air.

Come out that project door.

Lead me soft into the light.

A soul will pass away tonight.