Franklin Street ~

Franklin Street was
our cool cathedral to play in
vaulted high in green
with shards of light
breaking through leafy openings
to fall on of brownish-yellow bricks

to form mosaics
along shaded sidewalks
flanked with patches of green,

behind which one house stood 

that could have been a chapel 

with three steps leading up

to a porch

to where flowers threw off scents
like plumes of incense
to a door opening to
a narrow aisle
at whose distant end
a lone stained glass window
glowed reddish orange,
as if for Mass or Vespers. 

We played differently on Franklin Street
under that arching canopy
celebrating our gameful rituals
with quiet fervor  
in a sanctuary suited for prayer,
between eight mighty pillars
flanking the nave, evenly spaced,
bearing the weight of the arches—
or were they oaks?