We wander admist the closed fairgrounds
Run under tall, orange streetlights
The hospitable shadows move the stars to the dance of our light steps
The adoring pole-lamps reach out to accept us
But light-footed and with easy pace
Unruly, but playful in heart,
We run right through them
Again and again, like a tinted moving-picture
Again and again, black and orange, Orange and black, and always sand-gravel
By the watching ferris wheel, I realize who this place is --
Me, and "I come here often"
I remark, aware but unthinking
Aware but a little foolish
Oh, but delighted
By the watching ferris wheel
I lay on the narrow, wooden bench
And you come into view, my playmate
Tan, dimpled, and brown, tousled hair,
Altogether boyish in disposition, too
If I knew you better I'd say you Constantly send back
The locks that fall across your face --
Happy night sky, tall lights, very much charmed
And softly smiling wheel
The foreground to them all
Standing over, standing out
Leaning close to the bench
Being cover, being cloud
Dreams aren't always so generous
So moving I surmise:
"Not a dream, not a dream..."
