These things come back

Mean streets have become mossy

and I wonder how my feet feel

traveling over wobbly chestnuts

versus urine-soaked pavement.

The whoosh of a fresh fall wind

versus the hum of a subway

with its reeking hot air and rattling grate.

The shadows of trees versus churches.

We pray where we stop a minute.

.

My view is frost-covered and sparkling

and all I can think

is how I’ve become invisible and irrelevant

because I’ve made it so.

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