Traveler

Here is the next installment for Poetry on Monday from Peter Ferenczi.

traveler

 

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.

This entry was posted in America, Poetry, Thoughts & Musings, Travel, Uncategorized and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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