3 am

3 am no footfall.
A city on pause
Its streets anointed with silence
Its Buildings discontinued

The city trees brush the cheek of night with sentient leaves
Bringing down the dreamtime,
bailing out the old gods
Who dance hoke-ily
Balancing on their crutches
Leaning on their zimmer frames
As they long for the good old days
When fragrant grass cushioned the ground under their ticklish hooves
When gamesome vines tangled in their horns
When they laughed
Under the honey scented sunlight
In the first year of the world