Weaving the Fresh Autumn Breeze

Stand on the streets and breathe in,

Beyond the unpleasant odors of waste and gin—

Recall, recall the senses in your dreams—

A cool crisp air blows over your lenses

And suddenly you’re somewhere else in a familiar place

During a more precious time:

Recalling, recall the lingering senses.

A simple scent flings you back a decade or two,

First day anxiety pumps red into your blood—

Recall, recall the senses in your streams—

Shake the vivid nightmare

Or embrace it under your sheets

Perhaps it was a more precious time than you think:

So recall, recall the senses in your dreams.