IT IS the urchins on the streets—
Domino tiles parading
From left across right,
Toppling one after another
That which build
The shape of their dreams:
A marching band darting
To the pound of drums,
The blow of brass demanding
Eyes that stare, ears that listen,
But in lieu Morse codes esoteric
Pitter-pattering on a coiled line—
Itsy-bitsy critters that crawl
Until they breach the surface
Wishing to be deciphered
In their faintness, Christmas lights
Flickering to and fro wishing
To be noticed in their emerald embers.
