Five fingers tall, curious or rejecting, as a circular gold salute, or as a siren blaring red, a gesture shaped by a contoured conversation which rendered music and people quiescent; an unanticipated rendezvous, again, possibly the fifth. 

Yet another colocation, this with a swift response, ten fingers tussle, words hidden, interplay sequestered, a story hinted; with respectful pause, then latency, four turned to two, then, you left, nothing said.

Entranced from what was once your perch, silhouettes crossing the darkened lot peer back with curious cadence, an anchored Hepburn skip, then spilling westward aside wooden blinds, stardust lost.

A scenic river tour now urbanized, music sought, rolling pedals over and over, winds calm, eyes open, singing, we got to get ourselves back to the garden.