“A 10 line, free-verse poem, unrhymed, in the style of John Ashbury's early poems in "The Double Dream of Spring"”

Under the mausoleum sky, light trembles  
on the bronze cheeks of shuttered shop windows—  
or so it seems, while sidewalk chalk  
retreats before the sun’s impartial erasure.  
A child’s red jacket, carelessly looped  
by a marble lion, trembles with the patience of  
days cut from calendars, soft at the corners,  
while the wind returns carrying receipts and  
the unreturned smile of a street vendor.  
Here, waiting, the city rehearses its bold silences.

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