Windows of deserted factories
shimmer on a humid night
in the parking lot lights
as we stand absorbed in thought
looking down the empty street.
I am reluctant to break
the long silence enclosing us.
Sounds travel heavily
through the thick moist air
like the distant flapping of wings.
Something invisible brushes against us.
“Is that perfume?” you whisper.
–Sudie Nostrand
Photographs Poetry