By nightfall the first embers glow like tips of cigarettes.
The wind settles into a smooth rhythm, puffing the autumn leaves.
Sweetness comes fully, with oils and tart vinaigrettes.
Life lingers like a cat on dry grass. 
                                                           Wet sieves
Of moonlight drench the street silver. An amber streetlight
Wears its halo at a tilt. The night air smells of garlic. Sounds
Of wooden guitars fade in and out in waves. The night
Is meant for touching. The night lives without bounds.