Under

Whatever happens it wasn't night
That made it crawl that way
Under the bottom of another soul
When the night's wet it shines
Its blackness shines
It is a carapace crushed to black glitteriness
The streets after a storm
You walk to the harbor alone
You stand at the little wall built for anyone
The boats hide in a sort of corridor
You feel you could be alright
Under the bottom of a boat
A shadowy guest following them
Their pleasure jaunts