Green goes the light and horns follow in their cacophony of up and down pauses before wheels roll as a mother’s bench lullabye licks against the leaves that wave the day to dark, and grass is warmer than if the cat napped on it as the metal swings squeal with the pound of children And the path has dogs, spandex joggers, red nails in careful little sandals, sweating soccer men and several large pizzas carried from the corner store, before the shade coats the day and the stones that jut like acne will still stay warm, benches are long green strips of wood and the busker plays for you to buy his CD, not handfuls of smiles and change… Then the little hill goes up and around as you can nearly touch the traffic signal by the part where the road cuts like a box knife through the quiet, but there are enough rolling stone walls that I forget there is such a thing as time and other places to be, until a couple sound asleep on their green square remind my heart the park is a large empty place where I should stand straight and walk quickly to stop the sad sort of pollen from reddening my eyes- With another day when the weather was warm we looped crunching circles around willow trees…