handfuls of air

Drifting home down

the sleepy street

in the deepening dusk, I spy

a female silhouette

raking leaves, her face

hidden, her black hair turned toward

me as she pulls the crumbling

leaves into a glow

like flameless fire casting sickly

green light and flickering shadows

onto the faces of the houses

across the street,

window-eyes wide, alert.

I pass safely but reach

the dead end and reverse.

I raise my hood, not wanting

to see her again. But growing

closer, she hums in the dark

and turns her head.