These days fall off the calendar into a stack of tedium, but my heart drives along the river in a sunset through retrowave hues. I have hope before me of something on the horizon, a shift of life, a genesis of who I always was; once, a glimmer could be seen back when I was unrecognizable.

Those years pining for Memphis were for naught. The walking dead overran its streets long ago. But, I knew Neil Diamond's streets and Marc Cohn's walks are yellowed portraits in a musty book housed within the Pink Palace of my mind's eye. And yet, the roar of a crowd at the Liberty Bowl with the sound of the siren's call of a rumbling train wrangled my heart toward a past that rails brightly through the shadows.

I ride my yesteryear's steel stallion of thunder beneath halos of street lamps. "Look at these passing, purple frames! No, no they are not there—not the way they were! If you could only see..." I fill in the missing lines from memory. "No, tomorrow is the past of my days."

We have mostly wasted time
Half-asleep and have-to-buy
Waiting for the faintest lie
And waiting for these wounds to heal
No, we're never as lost or as found as we think we are

The Midnight, Lost & Found