The death of Monday
calls for a uniformed
tracking
arrival.

latched to the sound
Of boots
Climbing from the station
We see unconscious hints
Equipped with the fragrance of a summer breeze
Sprout to the surface
Of a familiar face.

Here the white picket fences
sing in harmony
as the movie screens project
upon the lively breath of the sense. Life.

A natural shaped figure
Blows with a curtain's grace,
And we stand.
Enamored