Too Late #22

The window
softened by gauze
the lights shooting off the top of the buildings
like electric flower stems

I am sitting behind
transparent night shrouds
that turn the trees
into shadows
the rumble of the sky
and pulse of the train
mingle into quiet mellow waves
of sandalwood
and smoke

I am waiting
why?
...hope
but weighted by
...realization
leveling
...truth

impossible? no
probable
...yes
time:
...too late

there is nothing on TV
my candles are burning down
and my heart
continues
to beat
slowly