Underneath the bridge 
Old bricks  
Hold onto streets 
Unaffected by wind 
Weather fronts 
Rolling tires 
  
We walk them as 
Train tracks slice through  
Gazing at high grass 
Growing between the mortar 
During a downpour of days 
And the cold slant of weeks 
 
There are others there 
Tents, rigs, and schizophrenia 
Blue tarps & wagon carts 
Their bikes  
Ride rough 
Over the bricks 
 
Waiting for trains to pass 
We still watch the grass  
Bent by the weight of seeds 
Swaying with the train’s draft 
Raindrops, faces, and reflections 
On Amtrak windows 
 
Further up 
The streets throw away  
Their numbers  
Taking on names 
Of everyone in particular 
Where bricks give way 
To multi-layered pavement 
And rainwater moves easily 
Into green street planters