The Urban Elf

There is a wistfulness that transcends the onset of mania.
It is redolent with nostalgia and heady with the scents
Of what could not have and will not be.
Abstract in its aspect temporarily alien as a construct
It fails, perhaps productively, to manifest as regret.
There are paths we all must travel that weave and twine
Producing crossroads in the most inexplicable places,
But seldom, if ever, do they manage to arrive
At a common or synergistic destination.