To move the many miles that cling
to the sojourn through that windy time,
paved in mariegold, a halo burned street,
a limping heart still walks by.
Smoke escaped into the winter sun
as the coffee cooled under vanished curls.
Two voices basked in a mellowed chime
in the labyrinth of a weathered year.
What remains of that wooden chair?
What paint is the seat now in?
Who knows what that night had brought.
Who knows what this night is taking.
A defunct streetlight comes to life
to show a way still there is.
A way down south, it’s sunny no doubt
a way away to unkempt bliss.