035: My only carriage

Tonight the asphalt seems to cushion my steps

as I'm trailed by a procession of bards,

weightless and smooth,

bearing fiddles like feathers,

poised for a touch.

Tonight my lagging limbs feel lighter,

animated to a thought,

a nimble leprechaun laughing crystalline,

carefree below observant chords

in the moonlight glaze.

Tonight I can hear firewood crackling

in my abode of loneliness;

and those present in faint corners mean no harm,

for we're still young, we still have time

and our song still glides above the waves.