It’s only the sound
of driving by, the noise made by the
space between the red light
and the green, when the whole world
stops
to see what happens next.

Every footstep makes a footprint in the darkness and we
trace our tracks with
ultraviolet light and infra-red
devices and the
desperation runs in rivers, thick like blood

We search the trash for motive
in the hours, thick and festering
before the sun comes back to burn
the quiet crime away.