Play.

I did not mean to walk your streets tonight, but I did. I walked past your defences, your missing kind, your barely hidden happiness, as someone held me and helped me up.

Skip.

Walls of colour, from A to H, spread themselves before me, leading to hues of pink, gold, oxidized bronze. Your trees hold twinkling fruits, and I still don’t know how to be alone.

Skip.

No silver, no wick, no weaving. The flint is still there, stubborn and content. Glint of glass walls further to one side, no one reading, seasons change, people fall, hearts beat.

Skip.

Is there something I should know? Hall after hall you still keep secrets, even in the open, hardly hidden, standing tall in stone and tar. Bridges need crossing.

Skip.

Before the other side, some of your plainness shows, and still manages to pluck, softly, strings that had settled, gently. You’re the lucky one, you caused it.

Skip.

Orion, inevitably on your sky. Fairy lights, also inevitably, on your skyline. Friends intermittently on your roads, this road. Some have come home, some on your back.

Skip.

It’s getting cold. I’m getting cold. Walk with me some more, first. A ghost above me, pasts beside me, a door just ahead. Am I ever coming back for you..?

…skip.

(Bonus track: No words left after all that. Just step forward, right or wrong foot, doesn’t matter. Time to walk again. Time to set out and find the next one. I might be back.)