Sky like dusted

velvet skirts

billowing into

nothing,

 

trees scrape

against the

wind, begging

to be stroked.

 

In the garden

night owls weep

London expires,

heat laden.

 

Dark fades in,

tables litter streets;

here,

beyond concrete,

 

sweet night billows

black velvet skirts

as stars search

for an entry.