No mention of stars or sea
Or of sky or song
Or of rivers reaching
Roads winding
Or of trees singing quietly
As we walk along
None of it lasts
Nearly half as long
Or compares to the truth
Within the pursuit of you
As we walk along

A soft blue-gray sky frames
a beige elephant who stares out
into a distant past,
as snowy cattle egrets
flutter back and forth
in a dance of macabre joy.

I wonder what you're seeing,
what you're really feeling.

You patiently wait
as an artist brushes
oil paints upon canvas
bringing you to life
in muted earth-tones,
displaying your portrait
on a wall in a thriving
art colony. Your beady
black eyes revealing little
of the universe inside of you.

And I am mesmerized,
fully captivated. For you
are so mountainous,
so massive; yet you wait
with infinite patience
for the last stroke
of an artist's brush.

The city's drowsiness
seeps into the bus,
leaving behind misty
eyes and empty promises
of a better tomorrow.
For a while, everything
seems perfect.
But I know I'm playing
a dangerous game
with this self-fabricated
pipedream.
It will eventually
burst and leave me
halfway there, enveloped
in a nirvana of despair.
Despite knowing this,
I still dive in; head first.