the cobblestones in my city whisper poems to me that remain unwritten on a rainy day they suggest: "slippery when wet" or... "cool to the touch" or even: "smooth like a girl's bosom" and sometimes they mutter longer thoughts that linger in my heart, prompting reflection: "I've been trodden on for eight centuries" or... "bathed in blood too often" but cobblestones are not the only chattering things in my city. the walls at times issue stern warnings: "keep out!" or "I hold secrets" and I can't help but ponder the events that have taken place behind their stolid façades and bells! tinkling sweet nothings in the air that my ears strain to hear "the spring cometh!" they giggle and at times in solemn tones they beckon in never-ending song: "Come to mass. We still do it in Latin!" [29 X 2023]