City Trove …
Somewhere under a ragged bush a tall boy beer
held in our hands, we laughed under our shaded cure.
The trail held passersby old shoes
that shuffled with each hard heart blues.
Yet we put fingers to our lips with touch so soft
and waited for each fall of foot, each breath, to part.
To lift the can up to our soul
and fill a little towards whole.
So with each sip of morning buzz we flew and flew
along, in fog, these brittle concrete trails we knew.
Sometimes I miss these lonely streets
a higher time of lesser feats.
With some regret we walk on past a city trove
into a sun that crowns the tip of aspen grove.