It’s these soft and summer-still Saturday evenings
that bring it back. When the weight and press
of the heat makes the air tangible, touchable,
and the drone of the city is dampened,
as it drips down into the grates —
like the sweat on the back of my neck;
a delicate and curved trickling, undulating downward.
It’s evenings like these, in the dissolving light,
as night writes its name on the still-warm sidewalk.
that brings it back.
Tag Archives: citythoughts
Queen Street West, Family Day
Leftover club thugs
Stumble still holiday streets:
Futile breakfast quest.
barbara fletcher 