Two blocks over make a right to the picket fence.. ancient white haired man speaks out of time.. makes no sense..
out of time will never rhyme with what comes to your play.. out of time is memory.. cannot be today..
One Sunday was closing sundown pretty in our sky.. saw him holding phantom dancer.. saying ‘do not cry’.. way of me I had to see though chances were thin.. I tapped his shoulder.. said politely.. ‘sir.. may I cut in?’..
His blue eyes were startled.. sharp creased white morning coat.. manner of his dress.. rsvp black Gothic wrote.. name of ‘coming out girl’.. defined by a year.. excited love from a young man.. an old man’s love stood near..
He said.. ‘certainly sir.. you may have this dance.. she may even smile for you.. with a sidelong glance’.. he told me when she came.. her time of true relief.. she prances happy seeing happy.. blind to those in grief..
Stepping forward took my left arm.. circled vacant air.. turned to thank him.. he was gone.. turned back she was there.. beauty as a young woman of passion.. for a mate.. jumping from her time to this.. in spirit.. trusting fate..
Sing.. ‘love a moment.. lover sweat the musk of you.. smile to laugh seconds half of me is seen in you.. wonder of a morning.. wondrous each time line.. no matter date I come to seconds..
with this love of mine’..
Thought for this day.. ‘Social closure demands those who do not pay attention.. pay cost of repairs’.. Peace Tony