Yes,
\nsaid the street,
\nwith its dirty bungalows,
\nits houses,
\nall built to resemble nothing,
\na conspiracy of ugliness,
\nof wasted energy,
\nindifference to beauty or kindness.
\nYes,
\nsaid the street,
\nno one lives here.
\nThe old woman went away,
\nher children scattered to different seasons.
\nOne died in winter,
\nthe others followed the ridge tops
\nof worn out mountains.<\/p>\n
Why do you come back to see me?
\nI have nothing to give you.
\nThese houses grew one by one
\nand drove away their dreams.
\nBut you were full of dreams.
\nYou played in stardust,
\ntasted roses,
\nblamed no one,
\nand now a part of you breaks,
\nseeing me for the first time.
\nI am the street of your wagons,
\nyour kites,
\nthe tufa stone of your garden.<\/p>\n
What is it you want, old man?
\nI loved the child in you.
\nIt is still there.
\nGive me time, and another like you
\nwill come along,
\nbetween ice ages.
\nBut now is not the time
\nto collect the things
\nyou lost in leaving.
\nCome back when the perch bite,
\nand the boats edge into the Bay,
\nand the woman returns as a girl,
\nlooking for you on my crowded sidewalks.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Yes, said the street, with its dirty bungalows, its houses, all built to resemble nothing, a conspiracy of ugliness, of wasted energy, indifference to beauty…<\/p>\n