The city is closing for the night. <br />Stores draw their blinds one by one, <br />and it's dark again, save for the dim <br /> <br />infrequent streetlight bending at the neck <br />like a weighted stem. Years have built <br />the city in layers: balustrades filled in <br /> <br />with brick, adobe reinforced with steel, <br />and the rounded arches smoothed <br />with white cement. Neighborhoods <br /> <br />have changed the burro trails <br />to streets, bare at night— <br />no pedestrians, no cars, no dogs. <br /> <br />With daylight, the houses turned galleries <br />and stores turned restaurants open— <br />the Navajos wrapped in wool <br /> <br />crowd the Palace of the Governors plaza <br />to sell their handmade blankets, <br />silver rings, and necklaces <br /> <br />to travelers who will buy jewelry <br />as they buy everything— <br />another charming history for themselves.<br /><br />Deborah Ager<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/santa-fe-in-winter/
