After all the parents have gone to bed and before the animals have woken in their place, before night-time shower sounds have become coyote sounds, each light switches off down this street and wipes out  every house on the block. With them, all time goes out and imagination comes alive. Ancient t-rex creatures alive in the tree's aging skin wake up and the trees' necks begin to move slightly, delicately reaching branch ends out to other branch ends on the neighbour's yard.

Stretch your arms out overhead, there are canopies of trees here.
One, huge and dinosaur-skinned, reaches its branches up to the pink city sky.

Its leaves are like fingerprints against a pure mist sky, pale purple and spotted with clouds. Its branches hang down like dinosaurs necks over this suburban street packed with sleeping cars.
 
Between the foot of your car and the moon's first light, their branches fall, rounded, soft.