Tiny flashes of light sliding down,
Her tears reflecting Sunday morning,
Invited in
Through the wide windows,
open, lingering bright
over wide streets.
.
She draws music, slowly
To counter this urban jostling
Unknowingly sketching a memory
Just as the years turn to days,
And seasons linger on the palate,
While our scant strides,
sometimes made while leaping,
Are hardly noticed
In the narrow spaces above
this great wheel.
.
But that day.
Who knew,
The songs it pulled from her then,
just a pause now,
Goosebumps on a chilly night,
When a lamp might trace the path
From the lullaby memory of a city street,
To the damp path,
Through a new forest
Thriving in the rain.
