The lights of the City glowed out
Across the River, and across the orange fog.
So, come along, we’ll entertain the murmurs of the River:
A sizzling pan, a barking dog, a humming dryer.
Then, we’ll step away from the weathered coast,
And towards the direction of the moon, forever,
For it is only April, do not worry, then, about the lights
Across the river.
We’ll find a path paved with cobbled stones
And following it—along the River—reach another
Old bench facing the sinking moon.
And we’ll hear dreams and colors
And lawns and parlors and flowers and December—
So,
Along the rugged shore covered by a shadow,
We’ll sing the melodies of mixing pebbles,
And hasten our breaths at the sound of Dawn,
Covering our eyes in anticipation
For the light, the City behind the fog.
We’ll cross the River, trying not to drown
In more breakfasts and stained collars and canine hollers.
The moon calls, then, behind the towers of the City;
It beckons, then, for you, and for me.
Written on Jan. 30th, Edited Sep. 28, 29th.