Sitting splay-legged
on a dark pavement
still warm from the day’s exertion,
she draws an invisible sword
from the tight inner pocket of her jeans,
tips back her head and
laughs, close-eyed;
this, all re-covered ground
and still echoing with the footfalls
of dragon-drawn chariots;
she has long since
learned the danger
of thinking twice.
Music plays softly overhead,
incongruous;
impersonal and plastic,
soaked up by new brick and sponged
inexpertly into the pores of her bare feet.
One by one worlds pass by:
parents with children, couples in love,
impregnable youths.
They glance and turn,
watching without seeing;
unaware.
Her mind, a thousand miles away,
kicking the shins of impossibility
with those calloused feet,
unwinding threads through a maze
and gazing skyward,
always skyward.