Where there had once been fresh grass…now a pristine, glossy, cross.
A well intention granite bench…
bystander, where have you gone?
Does this mean…a universe of pipe dreams…are lost?
I look at my impression…and, a decade of dusty pipe dreams…
You had been there…quietly, in the in-between.
From a stoop made for one, I watch tourist town drudgery, through my own faults.
I have become a by-stander, as well.
Canary yellows with fitted foot. Army greens abided by loose fingered hosters..
Chaos in neon posters.
Ambient lights with traces of human clues.
Sometimes sadness set upon an ocean of deep blues.
From my everyday stoop.
Thinking of the stranger I never met…but felt I knew.
The understated cross and its forever stone pew.
Where is the by-stander…I never met…but felt I knew.