Life could've been different.
Those muddy shoes,
Down that dirt road,
Winding into a gully.

Sometimes the rain makes it,
a river.
The townhouses always had symphonies,
Fogging the cold windows, at night.
The lyrics were concealed,
In the drooping wintergreens.
The vines stretched the brick for ages.

Life could've just been this way.
With this black bean dirt.
Beneath years of reformed concrete.

So I,
Could see it the way that I do.
This yellow moonlight, lynching the air,
In the earliest hours of morning.
And this pair of muddy shoes,
That I washed & put away.
Those days, were still in them,