It’s my wish to hear your voice
to walk cobble stoned streets
to watch the darkness, descend.
It’s my wish to watch in silent comfort
the electric lights flicker blue then on
casting shadow upon the street
crowded with blank windows and sagging brick.
Shall we watch the moon, full and bright?
Shall we dance a waltz in somber sincerity?
Shall we whisper history as ghosts walk by?
The South is haunted and atmospheric
The North echoes Roman concrete.
It’s my wish to hear your voice.