Dream of a Stranger


He asked me sacred, like twilight

Of racking fools and the day’s delight

A ray of moon lances my eyes

But to meet yours beneath the stars


I think I’m crazy he told me

While smoking tobacco as stories

Told off glances like high-life

You child of the better times


In greenery, his fingers blossom, a strawberry thought bleeds through

To my head in the shadow of a fruitful Francian hill

The tiny blades are a majestically hopeful prayer

To find the wind of tomorrow while breathing

Gently, watchful cliffsides provide

A quiet moment in the shade

Of the wise old oak


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