The golden light burns, glows, smolders                            The doorstep of night…. flutters, ripples, flees, amongst                             Dark shadow’s shade…. The branches receive, uphold, bear                              The eve of springtime…. hover, reach, display, before                               Airy palate blue…. The bitter breeze sweeps, twirls, heralds                               The icy morn’s dew…. flies, soars, brushes, the land with                               Cape of numbing cold……..

Trumpet's notes as smooth as velvet
on old, musty antique couches
or forgotten, sweeping dress
hanging behind a bookshelf
full of yellowed volumes

Splashing, you and I,
across quiet streets
the drizzle making them shine
like silver keys, speckled with age
or all these leftover jewels
still sparkling in my eyes

Cobwebs and creaking stairs
and then out into the fresh air again
walking under dripping green awnings
flapping occasionally in the breeze
like startled birds,
ducks who like the rain