The road runs riv’ring currents, coursing crashless swirls of traffic.
A habit making heat-wave worse.
Bath-stone built up about the natchrul Avon’s course ‘n curves…
Trooping past: a generation.
Sun sweeps; pandemic breeze.
A line ‘tween Autumn/Summer clear.
Wither, whence, did the rolling wind take up those leaves?
A new day begins.