Shall I call it goodbye

I wish next year's fellows a fruitful fellowship year!

“No through traffic”

On such sultry days
The honks drone until the night
Lights shimmer in the last puddles
Of a storm that passed months ago

Swerve in and out of existence
In front of the cigar shop
Where the suits and ties pant
Loosening their collars in all that smoke

Then at night the silk billows
Between the elms and in the lakes
And such neon dreams in the sky
Shifting with every stroke

There is a wolf in central park
One that skulks at every turn
Every corner where it feeds on rags
That speak to themselves

We are all born out of this she-wolf
Blind to the fact that our walls will burn
To the sax and the guitar
A chord in a melody to keep us buzzing

Those yellow eyes, are they really a wolf’s
Or just my own blurring in the ripple
Or the ruffle of leaves once again green