I can feel the city breathe.
Feel the rise and fall
when the pavement and street signs shine after the rain
and each tire, drifting along the pale city streets
is the sound of lungs expanding and contracting.
Listen for the exhale.
Her grey skin freckled with patio tables and plots of earth
She is rough but welcoming
with concrete skin.
The droplets of rain tapping the stone roofs
sound like she’s scratching her head.
She’s wondering where I’m going.
I could not say.
But she bats her eyes to win me over,
and it looks just like wind, rustling the sycamores and tulip poplars
I see beauty.
I feel her warmth
and I am comforted in her red brick arms.
Held up by her lamp post fingers.
I am hers.