Second Street
More than ghosts
in the alleys of this town
more than sounds from
the old ballast streets—
no spring on the smoky wind
no blues to solve a wrong
and no one writes songs here
anymore.
Ancestors huddle
along the verge
in the narrowness
of bloodlines and kinfolk
down the edges where water
seeks a way to the coast—
miles of lifetime
though not so far
say the shadows
atop these old
buildings.

