Abandoned wishes line the curbs of a burnt out relic city.
The streets can’t be swept, nor should they be,
because a Sunday stroll here is a new kind of inspiration-
a desanctified altar to which bowing is discouraged.
Eastern thought doesn’t help the remaining residents much,
as innate desires are often impossible to squelch.
Instead, they prefer to take mental pictures of the curbs and
file them with lost loves and almosts.
