Empty Sidewalks
on a line by Galway Kinnell
Everything flowers, from within, of self-
blessing, the poet said. And so my puppy leads me
up Main Street, a constant tug on the leash.
In a storefront boutique, a bouquet of sky-
blue buds dances in a cobalt bottle.
But it’s the fireplug
that pulls her, rapture of lingering scent
from life spent yesterday, or the week before.
Weather bargains with time,
as to what remains –
memory of passings, small scraps
the westwind bears up Main, to catch
in pavement cracks or blow like rumor past
the courthouse.
Such scurfs last, floating
on rafts of skin to sail the air-currents and wash up
against this doorsill. Unknown lives flower
and wither, no more seen,
but present to a dog’s nose.
This time of morning, Main Street’s deserted –
dead you might say – except
for the girl coming out of Zia’s to hang the day’s
specials.
Loki pauses, lifts her muzzle,
fills her nostrils with morning street life,
blessing it, herself
a single blossom.
~ Taylor Graham
from What the Wind Says (www.lummoxpress.com)
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