This sky is our innate righteous providence
this road our innate destiny
with no sweeter a wine
than the blood in our veins
the taste of summer air
and the quiet salvation
in evening musings.
These nights are such curiosities
these wonders such treasures
with no more a golden amber
that the honey of wild dreams
the glory of fantasies
and the little trips
they take us on.
So fret not beautiful stranger:
no pain need temper our hearts
no soul can steal our experience
our gift:
the providence of the sky
the endlessness of the road
the taste of our precious dreams.
Of Poems and Places 