So soothing the finger in the ice cream,
Cubes against the cheek, and we are satisfied.
Linchpins in a thought beatified
By leprechauns splicing memories from a thousand tactile dreams.
Revisit sidewalks here and there you’ll find so much to see.
Comes the furniture of the streets,
The crew, the caste, the long lost host of Oz; cleats
Raise sparks along the busied golden feed.
Some one of them, perhaps the dandelion, a deliberate violet
Transits the crosswalk, but one of them will seed
A nation raised on nations, the former garden—a stubborn breed,
A sprig of clover, something over there among the side effects
Of nowhere here today. It’s true but someone there, the one in plain
Song whispers something–baby slippers—and knows the reason for the rain.