The Good Old Times..

Silently, these days dawn
Confusing our shadow
With the edges of streets
Turning where we fail
To mark our steps with stones
That dig deeper with each pounding
Moonlight, crushing every rough
Concave of the night
Among trees stunned
With the struggling light
Among buildings against
With the phenomenon of the wind
We meet among the dust
Prism of this wander lust
Greeting and then, escaping us.