Why is this Street Important?

Just a hill road from my past
but it strokes me like hot mittens
suede or sheepskin, stirring up
not one story but many
confusingly multiple, each touch
a start of one adventure
or an end, or a middle
messily overlapped, blended layers
left hands and right hands
rubbing and squeezing
a knotted shoulder eased here
a cramped calf soothed there

sure, a kindly bludgeoning
without question
but I wanted laser clarity
a pin-pointed transcript
itemised progress

(Humbly, I suggest, I might
have stumbled onto something
far wiser than I could ever invent)

~ ~ ~

I wrote a poem
dreamy, romantic
It flowed from descriptive into surreal
and then words with good sounds assembled into
grammatically correct but nonsense phrases
and back again

I knew I would destroy it if I got up to write it down
but the words were there

I think it was a beautiful poem
I hope you enjoyed it

~ ~ ~