small joys: just maybe this could work out OK

the night is on

her side, rearranging reality

the dark, sharp with change, is alive

is ambitious: conspiring

against established order. What is

blue and grey by day, and solid as

a whale – whole suburbs, a freeway

a scenic, clear-eyed harbour – by night

disappears: I see nothing

but black, crisp and satin

Satan’s cape. Where once

cloud-bound buildings stood, a spray of

gilt teases

Spanish gold flung down by cut-throats

there is devil’s work at play

reckless spells cast by a witch

there is mischief tonight

great tracts of prime real estate, greys

varied as tweed, blotted out, blown

away – or sucked into a vacuum

lightly kissed by

Satan’s breath, chill, piercing

as a cat’s eye:

golden-green, disquieting embers

against sleek electric black