I'm with you in the old red mortar and brick,
the city our childhood played out in.
No one can touch
or bear the humility of the quiet things here.
That which was silenced decades ago
shred itself.
Downtown, you find self is not a container or apparatus
but a sunlight.
And sometimes also a shadow. A crowd. Watch
how they fold down the granite stairs. Ripple in the wind.
They both unwind like a line from the fish reel
and stand still as a streetlight,
a name not spoken.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
I'm with you in the old red mortar and brick,
the city our childhood played out in.
No one can touch
or bear the humility of the quiet things here.
That which was silenced decades ago
shred itself.
Downtown, you find self is not a container or apparatus
but a sunlight.
And sometimes also a shadow. A crowd. Watch
how they fold down the granite stairs. Ripple in the wind.
They both unwind like a line from the fish reel
and stand still as a streetlight,
a name not spoken.
July 1, 2012
