charleston, south carolina

clitter-clatter streetway ; brick lay of perfect lines with the street lamps bouncing off ;; here, a wrought-iron balcony; here, a sloping pastel roof — here an inlet lain with green growing spines as you walk up to the doorway ;; there, the water, gliding endlessly into the shore, pattering against a line of lilac, mint and peach house fronts — a flower box, a white crown molding ;; a plaque that dates this brick and mortar — a list of old names that line the storied rows of houses, spilling light, bouncing light — sharp 5pm light that cuts through the city like a knife; that makes shadows of every framed doorway, every walking body, every ornate window — low leveled silly putty buildings where that the sky peeks over the brows and furrows of the rooftops — a canon sits in the park, the trees twist and turn above — the air hums, the folding and unfolding of old buildings stack on top of another like a set of a well-worn books ;; a bus chimes, a bird sings; the whole city an orchestra

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