Behind This Street

Another Street

By David Humphries

The only explanation
must be that behind this street, somewhere,
there is another street, where balls bounce
and nothing crumbles.
Kitchens and backyards smell of cinnamon,
stories find their own time,
and all the old generals march in rocking chairs.
We are laughing with them.

On that street, behind this street, somewhere,
girls dream and write love with a heart
for an "o" in the margins of their notebooks.
Between dinner and sleep,
they run with the boys and share their laughter
with the crickets; no one knows
where the creek in the ravine starts,
or where it goes.

Behind this street, there must be another street.

But inside the night
that is coming down this street,
there must be another night, as determined as gravity,
as dark as an oversized headline.

The "I" of every boy
is a smokestack smudging another page,
crumpled with a shrug;
the river burning is more than a memory.
Where is there to go?
People are rumors.

The windows are eyes, but winked shut.
There is nothing to see, no words to explain--
the night inside the night on my street
is as silent as a fist.

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Poem's source : [link]

PS : I took the picture in Bruges, Belgium