These Streets

Something hangs in the air.

What is this pleasant breeze?

What is this singing that fills the trees?

That rides the winds, twines through the alleys?

That crawls the walls, circles the young?

Borne on the wings of sparrows?

That caps the lumberous, grating wheels?

Sidling along the curb, swirling around laughter?

But remembrance is both friend and foe.

Feel the harsh touch of the blackstone.

Remember the cheerful sounds of childhood in bloom.

Remember the healing wind that touches all.

The pattering of water with the murky clouds.

The blooming sun as the dark curtain gives way.

The melody that fills the air.

That once you said was the wallpaper in the house of life.

Remember the cloaking peace of the green waters.

The wind rushing past the leaves.

Remember the beating of wings of sparrow and butterfly.

The voices of a thousand calling out.

Remember drowning in the haze.

Remember these streets when they are long gone.