Along a village street in fall weather dreams
we float together by the light of a harvest moon
Halos in the fog show us the way
down a path we hope no one else knows
beneath a forest ready to sleep
The narrow way into something familiar
like the air is drawing it out of us
Leaf swirled lanes where windows are sleeping
seem to whisper a story to us
something almost strange, like a dream
At the end of this path we will come to it
a stream at the foot of the mountain like a vein
a forgotten place far beyond even us
and we’ll lay on our backs and imagine
what might be there, just above the treetops
—
Gonna have to give myself a haircut soon.
Photo by Chris Lawton on Unsplash
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