there is a place between
gray glass paneled buildings,
of corroding bricks, city slush
debris of wrappers, cups, bags, 
apparel tattered, tossed aside —

a place where darkness contracts
to a fine mute subliminal point
nor moon nor stars can penetrate,
nor the narrow eyes nor thoughts
of police, parents, children, lovers —

lost in silence, lost in dusty
stale breath odor of too small,
too worn out to remember or as
intractable as foundation cracks,
weeds, rust, stains, corrosion,
battled, battered, abandoned
to wild and tangled beauty —

there is a place between.