The asphalt glows golden

I see a dim, diffused light from a swinging lantern
I hear the hoof clatter of the horse
whose back bears a rain-soaked cowboy
protected somewhat with a leather duster
yet still dripping through the dance of the night

I stand below the awning of Goldstein’s drug store
my core of aches holds tightly the little brown bag of PRNs
The city cabs pass by; streaking white, red, and yellow
horns blare their Doppler effects while happy couples
ambulate through and around the sidewalk puddles

The wet shiny asphalt glows golden under the lamppost
newspaper shards lay scattered like the day’s minutes
I think of my warm and cozy flat I abandoned for the rain
the hoof clatter grows more pronounced
yet I don’t want to look at the glowing candle

I close my eyes and force my mind into music;
I shut the door to the space around me
I live out the notes of Faure’s Pavane, Opus 50
then my brief sabbatical is over, fear rips through my being
as the wet cowboy dismounts his mottled mare,
hands me my ticket, and exits among the taxis