Inhale

The streetlights hum their sodium glow,
casting long-limbed ghosts that never touch ground.
Neon stutters a half-formed sentence,
somewhere between a promise and a dare.

Bougainvillea tangles the fences,
unsure if it’s creeping or in cuffs.
A coyote watches from the shoulder of the 101,
waiting for night to blink first.

A skateboard whispers down an alley,
tracing the soft belly of a city,
where time pools and waits
for something better to happen.

But nothing better happens.
Only this.
And this is enough.