The peach moon shone along the stubborn bight.
Time commenced.
Soon the mellow birch swaggered under the city.
In the sky, the shade dropped. Buildings brayed
but did not budge. The steel and concrete
was smudged with smoothened air.
And, all day, you drifted and wandered
with a pursed lip and a tense smile,
eager to indulge and thumb hours,
lost across a stationary store, a curbside stand,
something of that familiar kind.
When the weather cooled,
the clouds straightened.
The north was fine now.
Stacked with light, the night was a mug.
And resting, tired, with plain hands,
I laid down, empty and
fragrant as cotton,
beginning my search,
centuries later.
AUGUST 2008