Work Text:
Fresh shoe-steps receding
into the distance, casting
long shadows at dusk
as new buds bloom behind your heels
light as cotton-candy
…it’s really time.
The dream
The wistful music
The storm rolling in
The fork in the road
The horizon gobbling up memories
greedily
as your tousled cap joins it
at the end.
One last week please
making the mundane burst
without end, like a
rainbow singing of joy
Bouncing over the horizon
and into the setting sun
like younger days
laughing until the smoke
disappears into the stars
Loving until the reason
disappears into our budding hearts
Brushing the dirt off your jacket
like defeat that
uncreases the spirit
Rediscovering the wandering innocence
that our dreams would burn brighter than pixels
that never contained them
and the spark of audacity flickers onward
without you.
I hope
we’ll meet again
At a chance crossroads
able to speak again:
“You look well, old friend.”