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.