Travelling down the road with you

So often I dream about a summer:
a slim road paved with cobble-stones,
wriggling its way through age-old dwellings

with you by my side. We're both hushed, both
pensive, with hands tucked inside our pockets.
We arrive at an emerald pond

with its population of ducks: dabbling,
quacking, diving into depths of the only syllables
they know. We offer them our sympathy.

Dusk grows, and the alpenglow reflects in your
eye. Soon, a soft fog would further blur our surrounds,
and you'd mingle into dark, much like an apparition.

My lethargic footfalls would ricochet off the walls
of a half-lit bylane, with one or two street-lamps
near its bends.

We are strangers at each others’ door,
yet some afternoons burn into evenings
with our shadows traveling
alongside.