Silver Street

The cobbles run uneven here,
sloped and sinking, like a old man
finally easing into an armchair.
Rain rolls in without warning
darkens the street to pitch,
turns each stone into an island
swells rivers that shimmer with stars
as the street lights lean closer
and watch you skim across the water
too quick
for me to save the picture.



  1. Beautifully written, Carol. I like cobbles but they don’t like me, I usually managed to slip on them, especially in the rain. I love the simile:
    ‘sloped and sinking slowly
    like a old man finally easing,
    breathing out and falling
    into the cushions of an armchair’
    and the lines:
    ‘and the rivers between the stones
    shimmer with stars’.


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