silver street

why bother to shine
like the glistening moon
a silver river
this asphalt street
for only the desolate
to see

the inky night
paints the houses black
window panes dark handkerchiefs
at funerals
from morning suits
to weep

and eleanor rigby
lies down to sleep
remembering the silver sheen
of a long dark braid
woven, like three street strands of a song
in tears.

January 18, 2014

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