Somewhere, the sun is conversing.
Flip-flopping window-shoppers sip Styrofoamed lattes
while texting Facebooked friends,
their children living happily in bedtime stories,
looking for the prize in every box.
Fortunate bakers bag dozens for engineers
whose diesel locomotives chuff lazily through crossings,
semaphores signaling clear tracks ahead,
the big picture memorialized for Flickr.
Even the birds have hung up their aprons
testing the surface for the usual kinds of things
as time strolls lopsidedly through evergreened neighborhoods.
Dear Reader, the figure at the edge of the screen
has something to tell us, if only we would listen.
