and so parked by the curb
as the stars wink
their cosmic arias
over the suburban streets.
the blue of twilight
twinkles like
a Matte painting of
a movie set.
Leonard Cohen
in London
Comes through
the minivan speakers,
crooning about his secret life.
alone, I scroll
through my
smartphone. . .
the screen lighting up
my face
like a portent,
a strange sign
both ominous and near.
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