Forlorn figure

Walking across the river, to a job 
that would soon evict me 

like an unruly tenant. I noticed 
a forlorn figure, sleeping in the dirt 

where grass had once been. 
I am lonely 
but not nearly that alone.

[I Saw His Round Mouth's Crimson] by Wilfred Owen

[I saw his round mouth's crimson deepen as it fell],

Like a Sun, in his last deep hour;

Watched the magnificent recession of farewell,

Clouding, half gleam, half glower,

And a last splendour burn the heavens of his cheek.

And in his eyes

The cold stars lighting, very old and bleak,

In different skies.

It sounded as if the streets were running Emily Dickinson

IT sounded as if the streets were running,
And then the streets stood still.
Eclipse was all we could see at the window,
And awe was all we could feel.
By and by the boldest stole out of his covert,
To see if time was there.
Nature was in her beryl apron,
Mixing fresher air.

Poem Written at Willow Lake by Yuan Hongdao, Translated by Jonathan Chaves

At sunset, I lie down for a nap... the mountains seem to tumble onto my pillow. Green mosses are reflected in the water; winds from the rice fields blow through the window. I enjoy myself here,          arranging rocks and flowers                 in the garden, writing out spells to keep away crows and bugs. My drinking companions          are mostly Buddhist monks:                 even when we're drunk,                          we talk about the void.

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of light and near darkness

Raw Deal City that Never Sleeps

Touch of Evil Scarlet Street

Detour Tomorrow is Another

Day The Prowler

Gun Crazy Act of Violence Odds

Against Tomorrow

The Killing They Live By

Night Thieves’ Highway Sweet

Smell of Success The Killers

Moonrise Out of the Past

Night

and the City Nightmare

Alley The Maltese

Falcon Double

Indemnity The Asphalt

Jungle Sunset

Boulevard Criss

Cross In a Lonely

In a Lonely

In a Lonely Place

Hungry like the Wolff

There was a picture called Murmurations. I remember a series of windows in a barn like room forming a cross. The windows revealed leaves in a dense wood of trees, waving closer. There was a woman inside, beside the cross, which was several feet taller, the woman inside had wild hair, the woman inside was wearing white, the woman inside looked like she might know a spell, the woman inside was shaking, the woman inside was dancing, she was dancing, she was dancing.

https://www.wolffgallery.com/calethia-deconto-gently-wild/