
Strolling at sunset,
racing the deep horizon,
to awake the moon.

Strolling at sunset,
racing the deep horizon,
to awake the moon.

From beyond the trees,
like a dead man arising—
the sun gathers mist.

Sparkle in my eye,
the smell of a new city,
skip of a heart beat.

Those bygone eras:
faded shades, vintage arches,
small pockets; big hearts.