Where is Milk Street,

looking around,

at all these people,

I’ll never see again.

The Collector surveys life,

mostly unseen,

looks to the Trickster,

for guidance.

Finding an artifact,

like an undeveloped roll of film,

begs the question,

was it ever really there.

Like the lovers who never touch.

The sea smoke painted the dream,

the red mud framed it,

your hair followed suit,

dancing for my pleasure.

I wanted you to stand with me,

stand up and sail to the stars with me,

but you chose to leave,

I will always be there waiting for you.

You came to me in the middle of the night,

maybe you’ll come to my door some day,

they say the age of miracles is still around,

down on Milk Street.