i will be brownstone
you be wisteria,
you'll make me rush in the spring time
close as you've grown to me
you'll stay mysterious
the butterfly lash of a new vine
there in the morning sun,
up where the blossoms were
you'd cling to me , shuttle woven and gossamer
you could make a pigeon coo a meadowlark's song
when i was the creekbed
and you were still wilderness
caught in the cuff of a morning coat
then sprung from the cobblestone
until couples in evening dress
swooned oakmoss and amber
around your throat
streets of a certain age
grow thin from the tireless feet
what do they want? ,
im only east 7th street
then you'll be the the brown stone
and ill be wisteria
you'll pick me up when our autumn falls
softened by chandelier
and ever ethereal
memories in oils on our walls
goodbye new amsterdam
there where our memories hung
for we may be old, but the night and the world are
young