Spring nights, too, I wandered uptown
unsheltered 
devouring
free-floating particles of other people’s conversations
guzzling the scent of milky trees
frothing
showering
promises at my feet

I wondered what we would be saying

Drunk on street lamps, I took to the alleys
gayly
winding
the long way back.

But those were old times.
Back when there was time,
time to have and to hold before the
frozen
always
of these sheltered places. 

Now I don’t wonder.
I know.

 and in my knowing I am still…

 …and still

 the spring thrusts frothy blooms at my feet.
Another promise.

Amanda Deboer Bartlett