I’ve a friend I call Firefly, for reasons I’ve explained,
and we take nightly walks together,
but mostly in dreams.
We wax and wane the philosophical, two cerebral beetles
stepping lively over the cobblestone,
making deliberation of the gods of Serendipity, Accident, Judgement,
lifting up our hands to brush the coniferous needles
pushed to their limits by the cold autumn
now wintered.
We handle our sorrows with our words.
Sleep is the vessel that carries us to our favorite path.
We ambulate by a river,
shoulder to shoulder,
telling stories, speaking aloud our musing hearts.
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