The night does not ask permission.
It spills over, breaking onto the streets,
a black tide curling against the neon edges,
soft-lipped, thick with quiet threats.
Somewhere, a coyote threads the silence,
low-bellied, starving.
Her ribs etched in hunger and asphalt.
Her howl swallowed before it can rise.
Somewhere, a woman walks home alone,
keys between her fingers,
her breath sharp as shattered g...