Not Tonight

There is a wandering, vagrant loneliness

in this cold night.

The air is sloshed on mist

and trees are all naked

having shed their leafy attire

in bygone days.

Lights see their own reflects

on wet deserted streets.

I pour me a measure of old poor rum.

It comforts

the monotonous feeding memories

of inner tracks.

They don't see the light. Not tonight.