Pearl Diving (from "Riddles, Piddle, Poems, and Tales")

In short, the lights are out.

Only the pinkish grin of neon left
behind and the sliding headlight shadows

that can't be wiped from the floor.
Linger at the silver sink, the flickering flourescent
beam, the dishes clean,

in rows.
You lock the door, feel the odd
lightness of being
awake at this hour, and drive.

The streets have drained an empty blue, become endless,
surreal, the rows of houses a netherworld
in which we live so discreetly,

so diligently--like ants, or oysters.
Outside, the sky glows over us

like a crusty ocean shell.