The concrete walls melt as the branches reach in.
We taste the air while around the purple fire.
Under the full ephemeral circle of light we are all children and with pockets heavy with imagination we cultivate a determined mind, surely we won’t return.
But the bricks are strong, full of gold and pleasure and pressure.
The lake is full with plastic swans and I know you like the embrace of plastic arms, but we are fading.
I can’t see the moon for the clouds. I can’t see. But her laughter is there alright.