Whispers of the night,
Raindrops dance on rooftops low,
Dreams drift in the hush.

In a world without paper
there are no trees
no roots
no tattoos
no love
no ink.

Time draws close for dispersal.

Coming summer there'll be no traces
of the faces beaming at the gate.

Eyes sparkling lips apart
breaking into one more dance
to be in the sunlight under sky.

Hugs and kisses fly in the wind
maybe one last embrace
for all time to come.

They'll see the world differently
and their paths will never meet,
most likely.

The most intimate will become strangers
before once more
they disperse at the gate.

I turn back with the weight of this memory.