in flickering windows
talk of the street below
old friend walk with me
let's speak to what wind
licks the skin
salt of our own small worlds
listen to all the skies
nod to clouds whirling
clawing rains
let us sit
smoke from our pipes
breathe deeply the sweet smoke
lifting dreams
deeper intoxications sip of the spirit
let us lose ourselves in the mysteries
lost to me
lost to us
tell me
can you see through these trees
to the greenest fields
the old potatoes on the sill
look to the low sun exhaling
shedding the horizon
inhaling what seductions
the aging dark
will bring
JP Pestana 9.23.16
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