Until I'm out the front door,
I forget what fresh air tastes like,
Ocean churned, filtered through the trees,
And stirred by sparrow wings,
Oozing Spring's green,
And the wine of decaying leaves.
It makes a sidewalk romantic out of me,
Reading meaning in the cracked cement.
Startled by the horizon,
Ships in the bay,
Cities and roads and bridges and cars
With people in them going places,
The sky church,
Makes me a convert to the Cloud Gods,
The stars and Moon and King God Sun,
And, Nimbus help me,
The first pretty girl I see.
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