It’s like this:
You go numb into your silent lunch hours
Into the chill doom of daylight
Are swept streetless down to city libraries
Walk out with China Mieville novels
And Duke Ellington and urban fairytales
Trying to warm your hands and heart
By the heat of salsa and jazz and flamenco.
On the way back, sliding off the world,
You see the patchwork kid and the laughing morrigan
Leap lightly off the tram you are on,
Disappear into the crowd, unaware, observed.
They do not see you. Fleeting intersections,
Trajectories. We are only ever moments to each other.
We glide off each others’ surfaces and veer away.
A thousand sparks.
