When the Evening Calls
Racing street lights, hear the siren call.
Way out past the swing bridge, newspaper on your floor.
Bound by intermission so young it's hard to care.
These residents of teardrops stray north to lame somewhere.
Down the steps I've wandered in and out of summer shade,
Staking talk and memory
In the dim light of my dreams.
Copyright © Lily Radcliffe | Year Posted 2015
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