Toward Castro

Succeeding weeks of rain, the air’s so clean
it slaps my cheeks and soothing coats my throat.
I’m walking to the Metro, and the scene
is gentle as a promenade. I float
on foot through color, like an antidote
to mudslides, teeming gutters, trees that could
no longer clutch the liquid earth. I note
no threat or peril in this neighborhood.


This entry was posted in Neighborhood, Poetry, Weather and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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