Walk across the street

the air was heavy like a Carolina bay in July

there was a sweetness that pushed limits, 

like magnolias in the night at last bloom

.

sounds of road equipment 

were North Philly and smells of industry 

were Rittenhouse Square homeless 

.

my hair blew across my face 

with a  whiff of highland perfume 

and a tinge of woodsmoke 

.

a train whistle heralded another century 

when the town had lochs

and there was growth on the river  

.

my brightly painted toes were a whimsy

from a decade of primal excess 

and each step felt as good as breathing 

.

the town clock chimed, same now as then

which meant time was the same 

meaning little when you don’t pay attention