Subtle streams of teardrop dreams burst from season’s heart,
trace the city light’s reflections across this window pane of art.
Swimming cars reflect their stars in amber winks and flashing reds,
below me play Astaire and Rogers waltzing all the drunks to bed.
Lonely glimmer of flash and shimmer as neon admires her wet reflection
caught in streets and rain-dropped orbs bent to pure perfection.
Black hole dots reflecting naught dart from cabs to dance hall doors,
send quiet waves of whispered laughs drifting to this hotel floor.
Captured mists in clouds of fists deny the grandeur of city-scape,
leaves me to dream between the steel and flying in its cape.
Dampened moon denies a swoon or howling through such broken light,
and I, my foot steps toward my bed, lest I miss this perfect night.