roots winding
between the potholes
and the patches
over many imperfections
and alien frustrations
simple wants for most
then simply getting on
tradition haunts
this tranquil place
of life out of doors
of milder days
of voices singing
like no one’s listening
like the whole world’s listening
familiar faces
dot shadowed streets
branching outward
yet firmly planted
in stone layered places
with telltale traces
and sometimes open gates
where we long to peek
into still-life courtyards
and mostly quiet lives
shaped by sonorous voices
upending the peace
with a whistle
a greeting
an impious burst
generous and guileless
connecting us
helping branches daily lengthen
roots strengthen
here bedded center
mid the measures
and the layers
