We found ourselves shipwrecked on that roof,
hanging precariously over the edge.
The werewolves were out,
obscured in the sea of night.
A stranded gangplank with no one to force us out.
Yet.
Into the depths, we plunged,
straddling three stairs a time.
The faint glow of yellow bulbs
breaking the humid nightfall.
Inky stars held us from afar.
Sweat dripping silently.
We were invincible.
The presence of minutes.
The daring of years.
Some were taken.
Others flung forward
in a deep desperate grasp.
The wayward, and the lost
on Main.