The night zoo in orange

I remember; catfish eye, dragging
all of the dark
with it. With thrown out
tiger throat, I recall the pavilion
in early winter, between bars; the trees
clouded in smoke, which they wore
like a blanket. I saw, prowling
orange, tail disappearing
in the mist. My nights are this;
across the zoological   black -
the spelt-out nocturnal   jet
of something              on a jazz bass,
the neck played          like a murderer,
strangling one long lonely decay
after another. I hear,  tiger throat,
witnessing                 the upright shard
of its obsidian            iris. A kind of door
into the world,          blinking.