DOUBLE TAKE
It happened
walking along Bloor Street.
The rain
had scattered its reflections
on the pavement; the houses
leaned to see.
Perhaps the way they leaned,
tired but expectant,
or the musky smell
of their nostalgic look --
Suddenly the double take.
I walked ten years back.
Not in my mind
but there. The pavement shook
another street loose.
I walked in France:
The sandy grit, the smell of vinery,
the eye-glaze of late rain
tangible as steam.
I walked two streets --
coeval, mutually invented.
Their locus, or their focus
I look twice.
It happened
walking along Bloor Street.
The rain
had scattered its reflections
on the pavement; the houses
leaned to see.
Perhaps the way they leaned,
tired but expectant,
or the musky smell
of their nostalgic look --
Suddenly the double take.
I walked ten years back.
Not in my mind
but there. The pavement shook
another street loose.
I walked in France:
The sandy grit, the smell of vinery,
the eye-glaze of late rain
tangible as steam.
I walked two streets --
coeval, mutually invented.
Their locus, or their focus
I look twice.