A cast iron sky stretched over uneven buildings
and streets where hats tip low and mannequins
resemble the living.
Quiet thoughts trouble the air. Words
twist through the procession of long coats and
cigarette smoke while the hard walk of work
shoes demands a path.
Shadows in corners whisper. Curtains hold onto
voices, sharing secrets and idle nothings.
The winds improve with strength. Hats lift and
hands find pockets; cold air cleanses
the street.
Roger Singer 