by David Brake

of dead leaves & whitepink—ripening strawberries.
Red and tan and pistachio-green brownstones lit from lackluster sky lit from sun (post sunset).

Smooth-marble girl in Roman rose-garden sits and re: birds on branches
takes pictures.

I want to tell her
that colors go away at night.
Be careful,
I want to say.

What you see as beautiful will be different
come moonfall.


Originally from Denver, Colorado, David Brake is an undergraduate at New York University. He writes both fiction and poetry.

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