You have never known serpentine streets
which backlash winter’s
withering cold, and the hills
grow, tall masts overhead
summoning that change will
outgrow change and metamorphosis will be
people in jackets in armoury, look strange
behave with poignancy
their smile takes a blast with the wind,
they scurry home
beggars on streets can only hope that the rattle of coins will
increase
in new benisons
they scurry.
