Strangers In a City

I want to walk with you on the hills of tomorrow drag fingers like tines in the dark dirt prepared by centuries of anticipation nothing but a few shoots of grass there waiting perfectly for growth, some human attendance, some ones to roll and plant deeply sending roots to the aquifer. I want the honey-sweet sun to make your skin quartz glimmering like a thousand mirrors and every living thing, every dewdrop-living microbe and sharp-eyed circling hawk and waving photosynthetic wand to take notice-- Strangers from a city are peaceful now, love bound and harmonious and mean everything to you, are here infinite one minute and the gone the next in combustion of what you created.