Bright budding lights against a failing darkness
burn idle as
the city lulls itself in to a
slumbering wonderland,
chattering eyes
weary and waning for a moments closure
are now weighted with
sacks of grain, worn hands have lifted
or steel they've securely forged to form a building
through sweat and,
a seed of forward thought.
With the end of the sun
each beaming body
glows a bit duller as if it were
the lightning bug taking its last breath,
swimming in a sea of lost hours -
moments missed
and hands tick past one mark after another,
all the chimes to remind
left in the off position,
so the chance at capturing a bit more
than the day before
is closer to that mystical few seconds
where
we wake enough
to know the world is out there waiting,
while also knowing
our delicate, haunting wonderland calls us back
to the lost perfection we crave,
while our lids lie closed
hoping to be saved.


2-16-04

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