The Avenue

The Avenue, as I recall it, is wind swept,

And the air is crisp.

Polychrome leaves quaver nervously underfoot:

A fallen rainbow.

Timid blushing Eastern beams through the tall buildings,

Cast my other self.

Silent and solemn it skirts along the pavement

Dangerously stirred.

Billowing locks like tentacles reach out forming

Animate branches.

It pushes its way north on cool appendages

A rustling progression.

I check my stride and we walk in synchronized pace,

My other self and I.

The sun soaks the pavement grey

With rays of gold.

The morning becomes day, and we two become one,

On the Avenue.


Matilde Colarossi (testo e immagine)