You must walk Michigan Avenue in the snow, the heroic South to North mile over the Bridge of Angels and cross ancient Chikagou Creek for the street shop bookstore where the café is warm and the cups filled strong and lovely with lemongrass and coconut tea three stories above the crowd and watch as the after work day unwinds and sweetens into twilight, your book of poems open on the table left unread for the real love stories of lives unfolding below on the street under flurries of stars falling onto the heads and faces of the people – how purposeful they look there at the light waiting and ready to cross over to the other side as the moment splits, the light changes and in a single flash of bravery they simply step off the curb together and rush forward into their moonlit destinies as the blue eye of a breeze off the lake sweeps past.