Lye & Lavender

The air today flirts with the sun.

The washed skirts are so impassioned they dance,

swinging this way and that until the clothesline falls apart.

How beautifully they flow now,

courted by the wind and carried by their strings,

spraying a scent of lye and lavender on the steeples of Pitt.

Suddenly it rains, a sweet summer dam,

pouring life where the city's steel lays still.

Then the blue clouds burst and the skirts too

will sing with a thrill.