Piedmont Avenue Poem by Max Reif

I long for a place that's lived in,
that's stood as a sculpture,
steady, weathering the winds
while people come and go.

I long for the traffic pattern on the street,
movement amid the stationary
sentinels with their secrets,

a place where no two people,
or person coming on repeat visits
will ever see the same thing,

as the stream of cars,
the pedestrians, the pigeons
on the roofs, the objects
in the shops all flow and change
in the great river of Time.