By ink, I can tell of all the dreams
Of flowers, of valleys and streams
Of how this city looks from above
By a bench in the pier, I peer off it

Telling of today’s falling afternoon
Slowly allows in the sky: the moon
Which once I gave to you, to shine
A ‘say’ can’t make a brave. It’s fine

So, I shut my eyes to a new prime
To escape, to hide and lose the fix
I never, not ever lose track of time
Because it comes always after six

Know, there’s ‘a no’ in these goes
‘Who’ can tell you, it is not yours?
Sweep or wonder. It’s right above
Sleep well under the light thereof

© Ricardo Sexton


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