Along Sycamore Avenue
Mark Anthony Burke
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ALONG SYCAMORE AVENUE
Mark Anthony Burke
I walked the empty rooms, climbed to the roof,
Looked for omens in the sky, stood and watched the night
Come falling down where the wind danced
Sailing Sycamore Avenue.
Made wire statues, pasted paper on as skin
That dried until they could stand on their own,
A room of wolves and a woman listening to the wind
Rush down Sycamore Avenue.
One night thru the wind’s rattle of palm branches,
I heard a voice singing there and saw her eyes dart
The statue woman’s lips kiss the wind
Sailing Sycamore Avenue.
Come from a dream she’d wake touch me and talk;
Her eyes combed the streets when darkness stained the sky,
Scavengers for wind, the time we loved and flew the voices
Down on Sycamore Avenue.
Eyes like plums lit my life, held me thru the night;
We lived like stolen birds but one cold night
A silence fell, the sweet wind stopped and her eyes turned still
Along Sycamore Avenue.
She’d always say time will take it all
Make your own way, you get in the ground alone.
Nights when winged search lights scrape the alleys,
I drift the river of dreams, touch her paper body,
Kiss her lips, listen to the wind.
Along Sycamore Avenue, along Sycamore Avenue.