Rushed past that spot, again
Ill-advised heels clicking quickly
where that night they were content
to stand so still

I swear there’s a kind of fallout
in this space
Though it doesn’t even look the same
Now little more than a vibrating mass
of purse vendors and shouting prophets,
high school kids
fighting to be the loudest,
a father hastily pulling his darting child
back from the curb

That night felt silent,
uninhabited
like a wrapped movie set.
All moonlight
and ruby neon
occasional distant headlights
bending through still-damp asphalt prisms,
and a sharpened heat
that rose and fell
so quickly.

The kind of silent that needed to be filled
with wild suggestions
like let’s find a psychic
to read our palms
walk across the bridge to Brooklyn
or book a hotel
just to eat
room service fries.

This mess at least,
I understand.
Tapping my card,
Raising my purse to pass
past the dizziness that comes
and goes.
Facts fading into memory,
as they do
as they did.