The sidewalk is a stream, a playground,
an escape without arrows to point the way out.
Fallen stars, the scattering of dreamers
believing in second chances, light the city at night.
Children remain close by, guarded by the fences
of stern warnings. Their visions asleep as they
accept the ideas of less. Surrounding aromas
are a conglomerate of ethnic layers, colorful and exact,
yet disengaged. A frenzy of motion arises when a
traffic light turns green. Everyone wants a place
where they are joined to something.
Roger Singer 