Chicago 11.6/7.12

The sky is crying tears of halfbright joy
Caught by the streetlamps, which declare the night
Open for us, in triumph, to delight.
The streets are mostly empty, but alloy
That emptiness with hope. What can destroy
The shining lamps, reflecting out their light
Into the puddled sidewalks? In the sight
I see a remnant of the future: coy,
And only half-arrived, but present still.
A future, not expected from before,
When walking here will be as safe and sure
As downtown daytime. And such daydreams fill
The empty stillness. We can be the cure
As sure as we're the ones we've waited for.