us, we, human people
endlessly
doing our
funny things
hunched up walking
lines
sideways
sidewalks
bundled in clothes
town paling

the old keeping heads down
young up, and round
walking in recessed spring

town paling,
its fabric
almost dissolves
pixled dispersion
its knots loosening
fizzling
gaps forming

fading

in what was once tightly held concrete.

loosens its grip on me, or mine on it
giving away
to nothing

these are just spaces
and not even that

a lightness pervades