Sunset on Suburban River

Near the end of a weaving - nights were much capable
They could attend any swithering ovation.
I pleaded the moon several austerities, I knew, few would
Convey some inherent laughter
A piece of cloud, in faint disintegration, put a cloak
On my homebound face. I didn’t feel weary much
But the anguish of wet street illustrated a steam
To declare a recreation, perhaps a resurrection.
 
I was thinking about a perfection
Taking shelter to the new prospect of life
While unceasing water connected our imaginations
To few premonitions making room for perennial vacation
To declare the fabulous earth- freedom could play.
 
The discerning oar, weakened at moment’s equilibrium and
Drizzle’s comfort;
Hard wind vowed to enlightened wave
Between our possible conversations and assumptions
The unfeigned river could bear our nostalgia when
A thoughtful sun accompanied our humanity.