A burlap hazel calls across the pastel canvas
To the green-copper dome or the twilight grove.
Red-lidded dreamscapes rise now regent over the brick chimney,
Memories threading their way through the swing set’s crackled paint,
Their muted brilliance pausing to tickle grass blades.
Each, as the nascent window panes, sagely contemplate the sleepy dusk light,
Though yearning to join the blue. Above the chimney, past the sun-streaked amaranthine
Stoics distant.
There. Then, and now to be free!
What whispers shiver the cotton flakes to cast such aspiration asunder?
Thunderous echoes, silhouettes lurking amid rusted work wares.
Steel, the good labor and honest heart yet linger, gazing over homeland
Though the grass veins darken and window panes fade.
