The crossing of shadows
marks street windows with
blurred reflections absent of color.
Quick steps and shoulders slip the
stream. The sidewalk is a meadow
of shoes, turning, twisting, scuffed
and shined, all with purpose and
impatience. The people are a mix of
ragged granules; the sands of a city
shoreline on the move. Eye contact
is absent. The paths are rushed.
From above this mass migration
resembles a jar of shells tipped on its side
and rolling.
Roger Singer 