A patch of red-orange iodine moves into a clotted sky Don't give in just yet A group in service uniforms stand outside a wooden door she's laughing, "it's over... time has been strange, oh..." last things last is not enough, you can't accept this Don't give in just yet I hope that last things last past these first charms these pale charms I hope that last things last a hook or a flake to hold on so you don't break
It was down the street from my apartment and I used to go by there pretty often once a month or so
It was set back from the street by a courtyard garden with a winding path a stone gazebo and four or five trees It had beautiful tall windows and red stone walls
I never went inside
It was clear to me that I should keep it as it was in my imagination: the most peaceful place
