Once upon a summer stroll,
where we passed lovely pieces of our history,
dried up memories,
and patchwork sentiments
like faded paint on things
we once loved,
I bent down, so only you would hear
and whispered slow
as the breeze in our park;
" Did you miss those people embracing in store windows?
Notice the way pedestrians
and fall in love, forgetting entirely
the red light,
and the cars
become so obsolete,
reduced to an audience to wondrous catastrophe
upon a stage of grey."
Pointing out the slightly blue hue of the air,
as if the day were collecting moonlight,
and the way sunshine bounces off
flecks of dust,
like optimism off the hearts off men,
becomes our specialty.
"Look, see the turning cement mixers?
Like the mailman's' destinations,
the singing police sirens
and grocers responsibilities,
they have grown so merrily ours."
We watch as strangers
of the saddest kind
suddenly are the best paired couples,
and like the hand in hand fantasies
that grace a world so rare,
walk right past
as we laugh out loud
at everyday signs
because they are blank for lack of better words,
as all the atmosphere is lit
with ambient poetry.
"Can you see the dance of eternity, love?
it is spinning off into the streets
from the sidewalks;
it is in the stores,
outside the taverns,
and behind their eyes,
and it performs in perfect symmetry."
You came to realize that day,
that these strange things seem to happen,
in the unsuspecting and forgetful world,
to all that we pass by;
and wondered at the same time,
if we seem out of place
where a certain beauty can be so foreign.
And we stepped off the curb together,
the ends of the normal meeting behind our heels,
the mundane gathering in our wake,
and us mixing with the forgetful.