On slick rainy street the line forms,
Yet behind each pair of eyes
Looms the true multitude.
One stretches on hot sands as waves roar,
One leaps over lunar crags, breathing under glass,
One wields a sword that ever strikes true,
One slices through snow, slalom salaam,
One wears scales and flies on mystic wings.
The hidden lives stretch on under misty sprays,
Persist through hissing car tires and wavery reflections
Of the strident insistence of neon and street lamps.