Buried in Whispers

These streets belong to another place, another time, set on fire in the yellow tree as the story goes. One step in any direction & you're somewhere else entirely. The deciduous architecture is noted for windows that catch the light & toss it back, as well as for the lack of doorways. The sidewalks & alleyways are always dark, even at high noon on the longest day of summer. Foot traffic is sparse, passersby are mere shadows. I wouldn't even know that you were walking beside me now if not for your ritual string of pearls which seem to glow w/a pulse of muted neon, like the bioluminescence generated by creatures that live in the deepest, most remote parts of the sea.