My hand on hop waiting as shadows evolve to night. Trees hanging crucified with damp. There is some nervousness inevitable when one meets one. Don't worry, I take what is required. We could travel the scenic route but would never arrive.
Corners turn, disappear like acquaintances.
This is the street. Have a fine evening . You always say this is a dance, demanded rhythms beyond timing. Seeking deepest resonance where the music itself moves with you. But to me we are painting - the coaxing of colour from beneath the white canvas of our skin.