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.

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

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