Fiddle

clicks of your shoes on a dark asphalt

echoes through an empty road under the night sky

fireflies flicker about the light post,

chilly winter breeze hurriedly pass us by,

Perhaps a bundle of fiddles, we are

dancing on a gentle breeze, harsh breeze, tornado,

earthly bound, soaking underly redoubtably grand sunlight,

perhaps we grow a little,

perhaps we spread out a little,

perhaps we laugh a little.

clicky-clack, dancing through this infinite night.

9.26.2019