Knowledge casts winter shapes,
As the sky’s theatre rumbles over.
Romanian beggars plot escape,
Chasing the pavement’s icy whisper.
Spirits get crushed in the rush,
Squeezing through the torture.
Women have all but given up on dreams,
- heroes fear the future.
A tired homeless primadonna,
Reads poems on the corner.
He claims to have love’s secret
In the strings of his guitar.
Caffeine and citrus.
Lips stained with turmeric.
All the king’s horses
Struggle with loneliness
Though their hearts are in the right place.
And smartarses wrestle
With the mathematics of the city.
They grasp at the map
Using the landmarks only they can see.
Huddled and haunted together,
They talk like wooden ghosts
They are careful what they wish for.