cinder block I look
towards the sky. It
appears as a white
ceiling with colors
sprawled across like
a dying day and
a growing night.
In the stand the man
plays his song, his
fingers strumming the
song of his life as
his eyes look out
of the reflective glass.
A bell rings in the
distance and the rustle of
leaves breaks my concentration.
A beautiful song calls
from behind and I listen
to its beckoning and
she lays happiness over
me like a breaking wave.
