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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