Version 2

Dark leaves on a violet sky, plastic bags dangling from hands while they walk home together, dangling thick strands of vines dim green then dark when the light from the lamppost briefly flickers, two ember dots behind a tiny dog I can barely hear, traffic signs suddenly glowing as light strikes light, fluttering brown moth large and old with hollow wings struggling to get off the middle of the road, little green house they stuff their garbage in like a faithful partner, a shadow with outgrowths of more green vines around an electric cable like tattered clothes red fruits hanging from them one too ripe you must hold your breath when you pass lest it falls, Christmas lights still on eight months after, a guest house lighted gloriously with all the lights of the world but empty, dim orange curtains while it is all dark inside, the problem with asking the big questions is that you end up there, but up there is nothing, or at least we can never be sure, the smell of bland to bitter fruit at Doña Aurora, and of sour perfume sprayed on the wrong neck.

Version 1

• violet sky
• Dark leaves
• Holding plastic bags, walking home, together
• Dangling thick strands of vines dim green then dark when the lamp post's light briefly flickers
• Two ember dots behind
• A tiny dog I can barely hear
• Traffic signs suddenly glowing as light strikes light
• Fluttering brown moth large old with middle wings hollow struggling to get off the middle of the road
• little green house they put their garbage below the lamppost, a faithful partner
• The night is a shadow with outgrowths of
• Green vines on an electric cable like tattered old women clothes red fruits dangling from them one too ripe you must hold your breath when you pass lest it falls
• Christmas lights still on eight months after
• Guest house lighted gloriously with all the lights of the world but empty
• The problem with asking the big questions is that when you are patient enough to ask "why" repeatedly it will take you up there. But up there, you'll end up realizing that there is nothing there or we can never be sure about anything. If we are then we shouldn't have all these speculations about what is the nature of God and the purpose of life.
• Dim orange curtains dark inside
• Smells of all kinds of rotten fruit. At dona aurora, the smell is bland to bitter. At another street sour like perfume sprayed on the wrong neck.