#PoetryFriday - Old City.

They walked the old city,
and watched ancient buildings,
row upon row,
stark reminders of another time.
The streetcars rumbled and squeaked.
They rolled on iron rails,
smoothed with time,
the shiny surfaces showed their reflections.
They were young,
and everything was old,
and new again.
Fresh eyes looked at creaky voodoo dolls.
The street vendors,
trailing purple and gold streamers,
moved with easy abandon.
Mimes dressed as clowns,
and tourists dressed alike,
mingled in a dance of old and new.
They ate and drank
and walked and walked,
like it was the first time.

Love was new again.
Everything old was background.

Maybe all love is new,
until it isn’t anymore.