A warm morning
The breeze takes the leaves and forgets them for us to play in
A rainy afternoon
The wind takes raindrops and plays a song for those that know it
An evening lit by our hand
We curse the wind, curse our breaths, and our burnt thumbs
I hear the highway, see the bus, but where am I?
I hear laughter, and I hear music, but where am I?
A night of talk
This is only proof of our questions
We walk east, into the sun
Shoot the breeze, and hear no one