In a room across the street
lovers draw the curtains
and turn off their telephones
before they strip each other to the bone.

Across the city a man runs into another,
for the sake of love or a hungry woman.
All over there are dislocated shapes
making their way through the rain,

fighting to make it to the station.

In a room across the street
they are turning on the hospital lights;
the radio plays marching bands and voices
                                   remember the blockade.

In the courtyard down below
a woman pushes the pram
that carries her children into the future
with no dreams of space or pioneer songs.

In a room across the street
they are tearing down the walls,
painting themselves in colours
and drowning in the noise of necessity.

The children on the square struggle with flags
that broadcast to the world
they are too heavy to wave in the wind,
too dark to blend into the light.