Beside lapping water,
I wander on Lakeshore Avenue.
When a leashed
Golden Retriever yelps,
I’m startled out of my stupor
in a black pool
between lampposts aglow.
Opposite the stairs
that squeezes the echo
of the Cleveland Cascade’s
cascading flow,
a Canary Island Pine
sings a ballad.
I stop and listen.
For now, night grows
into the wet company
of chattering roots
under my Oakland feet.