The city falls asleep each night
as the gold-orange streetlamps light the sky
Purple swathes of cloud float
above treetop hills and tar-covered roofs
What is there to a city besides people?
When the people are not there at all
when the nightfall drives them to the cover of
front porch chairs and backyard patios
Each night when the sun falls
to let the purple darkness rise
over the asphalt streets and city forests
and the sounds of the people alive.
This poem was written as part of a writing prompt for the UT Writer’s Guild.
Feliza Casano 