Summer City

A curtain blows in a phantom breeze,
and the Marching Bands of Manhattan echos through the cool hallways of the house,

The washing hangs limp,
and the cicadas chirp.

Clouds roll by and the mill's blades stay stationary and silent.

Far below,
the city hums and whirrs,

Horns blare, children chatter and the occasional siren rises above all the chaos.

Gulls circle the marina and a cruise ship glides smoothly into the port.

A blur of colour, taste and summer music wreaths the bay,
and reaches up into the heavens,
carried on the soft breeze now blowing gently though the uneven, winding streets.

Building jut up in random places,
their strange heights and angles like a painting of the old masters.

Looking out over this eighty's summer city,
a small blossom of hope begins,
to bloom.