Through the street lights and brutalist cliffs,
blinking beams echo my breath.
Laughter still bleeds in my throat, conversations still pierce my ears, alas
A Kodak haze, a synchronized buzz
and agony is gone. For most are
nothing but pines,
A sleeping balm, a charming whiff, all the
same submissive to a whirr.
As a child, they left me in awe
Now I know they're nothing more
than a palisade for the sea. Those
that bid time in the isometric
backwoods, simply haven't the clue,
that no concrete can still her.