Scamper across and down the fence
onto a cement pavement
gliding brown magic carpet.

Squirrel,
whirl laments
on the curb
of decadence-
Stay, and lose
your ambitions

just short of motor roars
on the street,
The inner wars
unseen
hobble and waiver
between
aiisha and safety;
between
Thank you or save me.

And maybe, the imagery
of sun-kissed skies,
golden globe backward
flights, and interrupted nights
of watery bright eyes
with tears glistening
solace in the light.

And yes,
nowhere to hide
under the shine
between
the entwine,
the divide,
and the aside;
only to rise,
and rise...

Over the peril of time,
the daily travesty
of an infinity denied;
repentant
on the curb of decadent.

[To rise in shadow
or rise in light?]