Dream of a Street in Heaven by Joel Van Valin
It must have been the spring: the honeysuckle
flowers fell over the wall. The wall was stone
broken by a gnarled oak. The road was stone
with sunlight spilling across it. A trickle
of water dripped from the vines. A rusted plow
set lines of shadows. Birds perched upon
it, or flew to the crest of a wooden door.
It opened when you touched me.