As the walls recede

And souvenirs come into view

Some recent plans appear

That would seem to have

A sense of continuity

Soldering the past

To sell its suit to anyone

Who passes by the dome

Under evening light

Looking for a matching eye

Changing gears to check if there is heat

Or at least if the tune takes up too much room

Having stopped to verify the claim

That the sense is clear, we need not remain

Staring into milk

Receiving stars upon the wave

That slides into the dark

Whiting out the storm

And the rest would seem to fade