Shadows, in standing room only
watching the fog
drift by the street lamps,
the train whistles, taunting them
somewhere farther down the road.

The slightest hint of red
of nectar suspended in droplets,
rubies doubling as prisms,
refract the way homeward,

Leaving the air itself
to bite at nothing,
to clench the void in its teeth,
grappling stars with its maw.

They shiver, twinkling
beneath their fission,
envying the kerosene
placed light years out of reach.