Late Evening Walk

The bay, a sea of gray cellophane,
reflects the fluid shine of well-lit Tetris blocks
fallen, each into its slot.

The sky is a black matte sheet
riddled with flashing pinpricks, and the moon,
a sliver of a mandarin peel, is affixed to it, askew.

Evening strollers are ghostly apparitions,
suspended above a dark ground,
their voices, mere murmurs.

While I, with my mind turned
inside out, have become matter
contemplating itself

atop a glowing ball hurtling aimlessly
to an infinite nowhere...