at Triangle Park
beyond the bronze horses
under the trees, someone
is still sleeping.

Behind the library,
a threesome sits in the parking lot
facing each other,
a dog snuggled
on a lap.

In front of the Pam Miller Art Center,
a man is lying on the steel bench.
I don’t notice his friend
as I rush past,
trying not to notice.

Out of the corner of my eye,
I look for the usual cluster
standing by the library,
waiting for the door
to open.

Steel rebar and urban infill
attend our walk to the farmer’s market.
Two giant cranes hover above
still decked with Christmas trees,
a snowman.

In June, street folks mushroom.