Under

what was once the vault of heaven,

the limitless, cloud-clogged sky,

now royal blue, now fading

to oranges and greys,

towering hotel neons,

yellow street lamps,

barred windows of

apartment blocks,

canopies of oak,

horse chestnut,

sycamore, pine,

the auspices

of another

residency

permit,

the dust

I’ve been

gathering,

the dead

weight of

all these

ghosts,

the

illusion

that

today

might

be the

day.