Extraordinary efforts are being made

To hide things from us, my friend.

Some stay up into the wee hours

To search their souls. 

Others undress each other in darkened rooms.



The creaky old elevator

Took us down to the icy cellar first

To show us a mop and a bucket

Before it deigned to ascend again

With a sigh of exasperation.



Under the vast, early-dawn sky

The city lay silent before us.

Everything on hold:

Rooftops and water towers,

Clouds and wisps of white smoke.



We must be patient, we told ourselves,

See if the pigeons will coo now

For the one who comes to her window

To feed them angel cake,

All but invisible, but for her slender arm.