No more hiding. We can fall away, slip from sight,
even in the middle of the city,
and if you ask me what my fondest memory is,
I will tell you of leaves and bricks in a road halfway round the world,
where the wind tastes of long-dead empires,
and even if our arms are broken at the ends,
I will step onto its bricks and call for you,
in music you have never heard before,
and you will be yourself as you have never known,
watching the stars slide into place,
and nothing will ever be wasted again,
not even the breath you exhale,
and we will not care if we are followed,
because we will begin to run down these roads,
and history will coat us in fur and feathers,
living in pauses and stutters of speech,
until the pavement takes pity and teaches us words,
and the sunlight will show us the next corner,
and we will need only tomorrow.

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