WHOOSH!
A tiny gust of wind starts its travels.
It blows past the park,
picking up more wind as it goes.
It blows past houses and office buildings,
markets and schoolhouses.
It blows past a man,
and picks up his hat.
It plays with the hat,
then drops it back onto the man.
It plays around,
but blows to close to a set of doors.
The doors open,
and he disappears inside with a
WHOOSH!
Sitting on a bench, lonesome
in a corner of a park
he fills his lungs with green air
and idly he drinks the milk of light.
He rises slowly, and he puts the path,
as a fiction book, in his pocket
walking towards the gate of twilight
where his white-dream night lies ahead.
Every day he repeats this journey
without betraying the day, air or wind
until the twilight runs away from him
or the night locks him in forever.