December and you are still, quiet 
You have been and will be, here 
My feet tread on your open, toes 
All brown half covered by hard, slabs
Cut into squares that hold, without 
Intention but because of, weight 
Your spine firm to this single, place 

The standing will make you go, shoot
Orange sticks into the clear, air 
Above our homes to frequent, space 
The street knows has not been, kept
For you must not delay, instead
Rise past this beyond, away 
From steps below that will go, on