Light rain fell on us
from clouds that were not thought of
as we walked and talked.
Choosing white or gold or both
was our game. The Christmas lights
outside houses looped
in the liquids of our brains.
White ones felt like cold.
We liked the gold ones
because they appeared warmer.
Light rain stopped falling
as we became time tourists.
The houses of dreams
in other lives,
other times
were born. Black tulips
became whiter on the path.
Each house showed its lights.
In their glow we voiced
when we could all meet again.
In a few days. Bliss.