Sweet like a candy bar
hid up a sleeve;
hot like a falling star
hard to believe.
Warm like an August rain
more than a speck;
soft like a silver chain
worn at the neck.
Deep like a sloping road
a shallow breath;
still like a song thrush slowed
by looming death.
of antiquated scrollwork,
of gaily-colored downspouts
I know who loves you:
planks of deck-gray porch,
stone-fitted walkways and
burnt-red brick, broken neatly
by squares of windowpane,
curtained by yellowing lace
freshly painted doorposts,
nibbled away from the bottom
by tentacles of gnarly vine
the crew-cut downslope lawns
chewed around the edges by
last year's dirt-brown leaves
three-flats, outsized duplexes,
old shops nestled unevenly like
crooked teeth in a grinning mouth
along the humming pavement,
here and there, remnants of
smooth brick worn down by
wooden-wheeled carts and
shiny sweating horses
and by centuries of people
it's Spring, along Queen Lane,
Germantown, Philadelphia
no two are anything alike
all are much the same
blink twice and you may miss
the creeping Summer's start