they’re framing in rowhouses on the corner lot
where i once paused to watch the sunset over the thick green grass —
now the rooflines will obscure the horizon
and i’ll have to walk farther up the street to catch the glow
i’m trying to think the best of these buildings
picturing tricycle races down driveways
and neighbors who’ll laugh across the street
to each other on warm summer evenings
but then the picture slips slightly
and trikes roll out toward the traffic
neighbors treat each other with polite disdain
and no one is left who remembers what was here before —
a little white ramshackle house
in a grove of trees
and a sky on fire with the dregs of a dying sun
