The hairs arch on Lavender's mane.
Her eyes moisten behind a bygone train's window pane.
The polished-Mahogany, the blood-red suede -
an evening Butterbeer, a mug with flickering shade -
the geometry of the stones, juxtaposed with their hardness -
the intermittence of glowing hell amid hazy darkness -
The flights of a duet pair of shoes as if adorned with wings,
like through diners who've forgotten the restaurant did karaoke.
Then through halls filled with activity,
brushed with cosmopolitan brevity.
Following the echoes of their footfalls like trails on a map,
counting the rhythms like chasing a nap,
as the oblivious intertwined mosquitoes glide from
lanterns to lanterns bumping the glass with brief strums
of staying a bit then breaking out of the foliage of a sea
of bypassed lint from fabrics, skin-flecks and the breeze of alee.

The distant crackle of twigs, the rawness of a heart,
the plots of the Marauder's Map displaying the art
of two creatures surviving, trampling underfoot, at a dart.