Even between street stones there’s green,
but a gray silence hardens between
people. In dreams silence flows
to silence and so the city steams
up through their raincoats. Maybe dreams
know what comes and goes.
Dreams to vapors vanish slowly,
while swiftly, whispered words blow
and the daylight swells
as crowds of voices clamor glow
groaning throbbing they all know
the dull blows on the bell
all too well.