the street is striped
in chaotic echoes
of alternating amber arc light
leafy breeze-twisted shadows
from hardwoods lining the way
pre-dawn sweepers
scratch out a living
wisping leaves and debris off the walk
leaving wavy dust patterns in Zen garden fashion
that side street seems so long at that hour
By B Gourley in City, poem, Poetry on January 11, 2018.
