Again We Enter the Dim Street

Again we enter the dim street,

our tired eyes sweeping past each shop,

forgetting as we look.

Corner after corner,

known or not,

oiled white steam, clink of dishes,

dumplings, soy milk, barbers,

sellers of Chinese medicine, eyeglasses.

In late light flooding gold,

trees lift their dirty leaves, grey flames

lofting a sooty balcony.

A line of clothes asway on long bamboo,

a broom-thin woman leaning at a sill.

A baby stroller’s wheels

squeal and spin.

A teen, hair dyed yellow,

steps from an umbrella’s shade.

The nagging radio’s ancient voice

yatters on, words like dustmotes

glittering at sunset.

We stop a moment,

letting the long street run by,

its flow of ankles

rinsing ours.