black paint and wide streets, plain as a white sheet, scribbles all erased
then comes a box of walls so thin, and flightless birds, far crashing waves
another thought goes out and in, the things you think and do not think
a field comes to the window seat, green and yellow, then also green
plains and hills turn into mountains, houses on top, but most down below
away from strange, into a life of colour, a swing of sorts
rain would pour, sun rays hide, breeze between the trees
streets are wide again, crowded and white, all the shades in one
