i will be brownstone you be wisteria, you’ll make me rush in the spring time close as you’ve grown to me you’ll stay mysterious the butterfly lash of a new vine there in the morning sun, up where the blossoms were you’d cling to me , shuttle woven and gossamer
you could make a pigeon coo a meadowlark’s song
when i was the creekbed and you were still wilderness caught in the cuff of a morning coat then sprung from the cobblestone until couples in evening dress swooned oakmoss and amber around your throat streets of a certain age grow thin from the tireless feet what do they want? , im only east 7th street
then you’ll be the the brown stone and ill be wisteria you’ll pick me up when our autumn falls softened by chandelier and ever ethereal memories in oils on our walls goodbye new amsterdam there where our memories hung for we may be old, but the night and the world are young