Eyes of wanderlust and longing
As he scratched blue fairytales onto the pavement.
He is dead now
So today’s turn along those halls
Unveiled layers of whitewash,
The transience of the past
Has never failed to leave us short of breath
Its push and pull
Hash and re-hash as meaning rots away,
And the magic
That settled low on the concrete then
Cleared fast and made things all too real.
We have watched oceans dry
And forgotten them.
When trees died,
We stacked wet stones where they stood
And we climbed and climbed and climbed
Climbed until our hearts and this garden were worlds apart —
Alas, the sky was never close enough.
Email D’Artagnon Fulton: Dartagnon.firstname.lastname@example.org