I am produced

To site a few times that the sky
has refused to turn bluer than I am, its difficult to proceed this way.
For these are those few times
when the pavements
have buried jingles of poverty
and soon today I am to walk them
and then again on crossroads
I haven't seen you for too long
and you know
these pavements have buried our footsteps
along dark morning walks
and the secret glances
with few memories and fewer sounds
that came out
fainter,outstripping and tied
from my window that lived in that wall.