Rain hits the pavement
like millions of tiny diamonds
falling from the sky
and bouncing in the reflected light
of a digital city.
The smells of coffee and artificial pine
leak out from open doors
of brightly lit shops
with painted windows.
Ghosts huddle in shadows,
tucked between buildings
like old boxes between furniture
in a spare room.
Holiday music invades the streets
in short, offbeat bursts,
as customers rush in and out,
frantically emptying their wallets.
Cars roll by
in a slow and halting gloom–
stop, wait, roll three feet, stop,
as their drivers curse the world
and its banality.
There used to be something else here,
something underneath it all.
It has faded,
but still teases the edges of my memory.
because I’ve forgotten its name,
and without that
it will die,
so will we.