He gives me whispers in tall trees,
he gives me beauty amidst destruction,
he gives me dreams with the fevered moon.
I walk ahead of the wind
that whips a perpendicular
phase when he asks me to slow down.
I’m forever rushing past false bridges
where the road meets the curb,
every sound an execution
as cars pass,
signals lift from my shoulders.
I turn and grasp his hand,
my friend, as across the river we walk.