A Dusty Square

You weep for the view over there: The tight pattern of circles and legs Stretching into arms And faces and squares; A young man walking prettily, Hips swaying in bovine grace, People shattering into words and laughter. My stature raises its feet And moves off into the street-lit shades. Your breath is at my back Cold before it reaches me And an avenue of coloured lights Explodes into being between us, And you are left with yourself. The moon eyes me with contempt, I belong to a pedestal That stands in the centre Of a dusty square.