Hang One’s Hat

You could be anywhere, but you’re here at top of the concrete slopes. Like an Aspen ski resort, Pine trees surround the dark park. Tungsten light lights the woolly mohawk. Incandescent bodies rise and fall among the slopes on skate lifts. Glowing condensation succeeds on a thriving passion.  Hang one’s hat on the forest green steel railing coated with brushes of rust. Merging eclipses of soft bokeh like petals thrown into the night’s procession.