Here is the next installment for Poetry on Monday from Peter Ferenczi.
the city feels different today,
changed since I’ve been gone.
I walk my old ways,
head up, eyes sweeping.
a steeple pokes like new growth
over the trees of the park.
the crowds pour by,
rivers of new-struck pennies
each flashing, eye-catching.
a street turns to scoop yellow evening light,
funnels it like honey into shadowed square.
nothing has changed.