The memory place. A filling in
of the in-between with disarmingly
haunting voices wrapped in frail
burlap. A cooperative sadness strives
to overtake. Faces like mannequins
appear with irregularity, easing the
initial pains of those left behind;
everyone’s looking for a familiar song.
Red brick walls with a faded ad stares
from the second floor; a fire escape
hides part on the picture. The mailman
curses at all dogs. Even at night, the city
breathes hard.
Roger Singer 