Don't step on the grass; it is the ocean.
The guard barks orders with inverse logic
as the garden park closes, emotion
does too, before sunset – omen tragic:
As night falls down, a future is dreamed up
with an apparent return to the Source
of the promise discovered between us
that summer when all our dreams seemed on course:
You were my beacon then, literally –
your hair and sand dress showed me where to walk,
and I found you inside to mirror me –
not as reflection, as marvelous luck!
It seems you've lost it, but your light remains
inside my eyes as I reach for our aims.
urbansonnets 