The couple stroll down the revitalized
sidewalk, remembering when the mortar
was fresh between the fading bricks,
A locomotive blares its warning
to the shoppers, mid-life motorcycles
argue against the rumbled passage,
Eight groomsmen gather in the wake
of the train for photographs, cheeks red,
but too young to be cold.
She smiles at the young men in tuxedos
and the grey ones in leather, pulls her scarf,
and his arm, close against the March snow.