In Like a Lion

Head wind, tail wind

Any which way wind,

The crackling snap

Of fleur de lis flags,

The creak and the clatter

Of old wooden signs overhead,

Rothschild's, Keil's,

Valobra, Bevolo,

Riches I run past,

Pushed here and pulled there,

Hurried and held back

In a torrent of cold air,

Rushing like water

Through magnolias and palm fronds

And wrought iron railings,

Running through roses,

Lapping up storm puddles

Left behind like old winter,

Scattering sparrows

Like rustling brown leaves,

Whispering even in

The quietest courtyards,

The most hidden corners,

And out on the streets

Wind roaring around us

Through, over, among us

Like the horn blast that heralds

The change still to come.