While traffic glides by,

the world exists without him,

streets convey a certain

awareness of time,

everyone in their own

on their own,

wishing to somehow own

a world creates their

emotional windfall.

A simple streetlight

stop

pause to be forcibly reflective,

bricks look the same,

all the eyes as indifferent

as a young boy picking up cigarette butts

on a greasy curb,

ignoring the eyes

for now.

When does it all take shape,

what is the actual time frame when

we all become part of the cycle of truth.

A sunny day,

arise to the notion

of guided practice,

we’ve felt this energy before,

know its pleasure,

what’s in store.

Imagine