It happenedwalking along Bloor Street.
The rainhad scattered its reflectionson the pavement; the housesleaned to see.
Perhaps the way they leaned,tired but expectant,or the musky smellof their nostalgic look --
Suddenly the double take.
I walked ten years back.Not in my mindbut there. The pavement shookanother street loose.
I walked in France:The sandy grit, the smell of vinery,the eye-glaze of late raintangible as steam.
I walked two streets --coeval, mutually invented.Their locus, or their focusI look twice.
