Walk with me through this siesta city
under the redbreast robin sunset

as the wind whistles in between crevices
of grey, moss covered skyscrapers

and the idle streets run into the distance
like a dry river, empty, but for parked cars.

From tar to dirt as the monotone
mechanical hum transforms
into an orchestra of rustling leaves
accompanied by the gentle finesse of a running stream.
Beyond the smokeless factory district
where the monochrome backdrop
bursts into vibrant shades of green
sprinkled with blooming skittle wildflowers.

Lets us lay a picnic blanket
on the overgrown grass
and drink a bottle of wine from plastic glasses
as we watch the sun sink below the horizon.

You could lie down on your back
toes pointed heavenward
under the star splashed ceiling
while you see the northern lights behind your shut eyelids
and praise the highest heavens in foreign tongues
among the sounds of a trickling stream
fusing with clinking wind-chime echoes
deep in the throes of the holiest of holy's.

Care to join me for a stroll
to the land of milk and honey, hunny?