I fall asleep 

dreaming of another version of this film,

one rescued from the cutting room floor,

as they say,

except comprised of only 

the beginnings and endings of every scene,

a thousand black and white windows 

swept up after dark 

by a cinephilic janitor 

who spliced them into an unending reel 

of stolen frames from Nightmare Alley, 

Harbour Lights,  No Way Out, 

The Naked City, The Desperate Hours...

leaving only the empty city,

It’s streets and blinking signs,

it’s hard lit firescapes

and dutch angled alleyways

and nobody to witness

except the odd face glimpsed 

in an upstairs window

or man in the long coat and hat, 

stepping in and out of the frame 

as if arriving or leaving

with his questions still unanswered.