The simmering street lifts into being
As years of stain and tons of tar
Evaporate like waves,
And each expression has a life,
Each idea breathes
And the grasses yield such secrets
For the trees to analyze.
The colors on the roofs rise
And fountains dematerialize,
The traps of good and bad
Abandoned by the side.
Lantana shakes the homilies
Of every preacher who ever breathed
Harmlessly away,
But only to say
"There's something else,
Can't you see?"
