Eigengrau

Nighttime is sly.

It acts like a beast with no body,

a parasite with no host.

One, two,

count the little splashes–

your feet make into puddles.

Water drips

in between every crevice,

down and through

stone bricks upon the ground.

Trees become gargoyles–

when they absorb light,

and they’re ready to pounce

when you can’t see.

A car slows down,

and matches your pace.

It stops–

rolls down the window,

pushes you in,

forcefully,

and covers your mouth,

drives away.

All that remains,

are the trees that watch.

And that distant car–

it seems 

as if you could touch it

in fragments of warped memories.

Until it’s–

going,

going,

going,

gone.