How the sky melted in the summer haze
Of golden locks brushing upon the quiet bank
And the whisper of Our Fathers in the gentle breeze
That passed through crops and through your skin
Pink to the glare of a foreign light unexplored
And piercing the boards of a deserted cottage
Surrounded by saturated spreads of yellow and green
With a dirt road to lead to nowhere beyond
The mirage of a populous horizon
A façade of skyscrapers global to themselves
It could never be real.