Spruce Street, Berkeley

Naomi Shihab Nye

If a street is named for a tree,
it is right that flowers
bloom purple and feel like cats,
that people are leaves drifting
downhill in morning fog.

Everyone came outside to see
the moon setting like a perfect
orange mouth tipped up to heaven.

Now the cars sleep against curbs.
If I write a letter,
how will I make it long enough?

There is a place to stand
where you can see so many lights
you forget you are one of them.

Spruce Street leads through the Berkeley Hills to the rear of the famous Berkeley University.

You can find this poem in Naomi Shihab Nye's collection, Fuel:

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