A dollar fifty bought us candy, sprung in mouths
without a thought and just a grin to skip along
with, happy hands to clutch and sun to flush our skin.
It wasn't long, that walk through city blocks although
it took our talk from start to finish, back again,
with giants hulking, arching up as though dragoons
at which a thought would cross your mind: "Imprison us,"
you'd say to glass and guards who'd, in alarm, back off
a bit.  A flight of shadows from us lifts our chins
to sparrow songs and pass along in bliss across
an artificial park of rock, of iron, hot
now with construction, blown by scorching winds.  You spot
an orchid clinging brick and rip it, claiming that
it didn't fit, and I sit down, aghast until
you grasp my hand.  Our fist is doubly big and swings,
too clumsy, back and forth.  A bug starts to chirp;
it knows of stars forthcoming.  Our light slowly fails—
a phantom orchid holds my pupils rapt at such
contrast, its pallor stark against your hair, all black;
but facing urban titans is hard without you.