The River at Sundown

The river bears its share of monsters.
Deep splashes from depths
as you toss your own ghosts into it.
The stones sink without a ripple.

Over quaint shophouses the sun
plunges its flame, flares out the souls
of neon and sunder. I'm reminded the crowd
floats, fades in mid-walk, reappears
like dead kin. I befriend for the moment

the wind, flicking her hair like a temptress.
She pulls me by the fingertips somewhere,
a bank where no more lovers frolic and the
moon throws her pale face on the water.