Glass in its glory
rippling, yet coming to a stop
light from windows
halfway up the hill

smoke from the brigham
forming ornate streams
white converging with black
dissapating over night striders

rectangular gold
flicking and and off
changing the illusion
of a magic city

layered, from private worlds
to a streak of confusing light
as I ask from where it comes
taking another inhalation of amphora

left to right invisible
as my eyes dart ahead to stubborn cliffs
my thoughts taking a dive
a fear of drowning my wisdom

gathering my smokey rum
the ice long gone
the glass secure, sitting
on the wide and sturdy arm

Trying to define goodnight
by what I see around me
but time seems suspended
in a battle with distorted light

It time to stumble back
on the rocky steps
to the peace of sleep
and the surprise of jolting dream