She was so tight and steady
even under the influence of all those wild stars
Slurped a bit but never once spilt the wine.
At one point her eyes did deceive her.
If she had taken another step forward
like a rabbit, she would disappear down that hole.
Upon further inspection and a reconfiguration between brain-waves and optic nerve endings
the ground reappeared, revealing her own wavering face and the puddle behind it.
A porthole reflecting the night.

He was concerned and anxious for her return
standing in the numb amber haze of ancient street lamps
numb to the bite of winters sorrow.
This is where she started to run,
for no apparent reason.
Unaware of the air freezing around her.
Perhaps someone had set the clocks back.
Maybe she felt she needed to keep time.
Anyway you looked at it, she was passing.

Tearing by obscure bars, an abandoned boardwalk, and the skeletons of countless fragmentary structures,
her shoes found the stone earth stretch that separated present desolation from the care free class of the past.
He was there
on the other side.
Waiting.
She could smell the freshly ironed starch on his suit jacket as his pristine eyes gleamed in anticipation across the frozen field
The idea of his hand against her cheek finally brought her spine a shiver.

Then, there was only movement.
The leftover blades of petrified grass crumbled under her feet.
She rushed right past the whipping wind
and over all the lost ages.
Stay in motion or else you’ll fade into the vastness of this lot.
She ran until his arms found her and they trembled there a moment,
escaping neoteric time as the night passed through them.
Their modest love, antique.

.......