passersby

so close the cold to my cheek
that my shadow grows from underneath
each step becomes softer
each breath becomes closer
to the winter moon, wind chimes
floating paper and plastic bag rhymes
such sweet, clear clouds fly
a lullaby in my mind's sky
where restless thoughts won't die
and the shivering birds don't cry
we're all just innocent
not quite casual
passersby.

©2005 Sean Muzzy