At Hara's Hand

The city's people walk
along their daily route
some new, some never changing
each with somewhere to be
an agenda to keep

her flowing dress
trails behind her
twisting and tangling
among the crowd
her bare feet
stumble but never slow

a man with a pressed
pinstripe suit and shining shoes
late for a meeting
steps into a stream
of taxi cabs
and blaring horns

he stumbles past her
as her feet neither quicken
nor slow, following a rhythm
up and down the streets
at her signal he will fall
into dreary darkness

for ever more