Eyes of clouds watched with
swollen curves as the earth passed
below, its streets busy and sidewalks
solid paths of souls colliding and then
draining off, opening doors, filing in
and out with random irregularity.
The day is a flash of courage on a
millennial stage, as the sands of people
speak of how snowflakes are different,
forgetting their own uniqueness.
There’s an agitation between the space
clouds. The sound of cities. The
escaping steam from catacombs below
while a cloudburst sets feet into pinball
running, hurrying to destinations just
beyond the next corner.
Roger Singer 