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Before things mattered, down winding backstreets

I walked, and walked, and I lost and then found
the open way to blossoms white and sweet,
inviting the air to their creamy sound:
And I walked along walls and crossed bridges
and sang about freedom and love before
I truly knew of the bondage bridges
entail in their linkage of crust and core:
Between rich and poor, the gap is tiny;
it is practical in that practice splits
differences between the pale and shiny
faces of the heart where bright honor sits:
I sang on that bridge that I saw the light
in some kind of love that Sevillian night.
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