I don’t wonder about few things
While those could be miraculous as they seemed:
The mid April romance or long drive on a weekend
May be the windows of neighboring cars
Much alert to admit the organized silence
Of our careless conversation.
I, however, stay frolic
Making my senses tolerant to a summer
While I still roam around city luxury:
The ice cream parlors for scoop of life,
Manic libraries or late night theater
Or dipped in frenzied parties
Losing in a laughter of friendly conspiracy
But I would take few more to ponder
The remarkable sandbars and clamor of bangles-
My keys to sovereign dreams. And
I fall on to the footsteps of nomads.
 
Now, I can allow the demure wind to
Bear the flapdoodle of big love
Lilting treetops, merging skyline
In my mind: cerulean, washed meadows.