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.

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