Flowers drop on smooth concrete
In another garden these people are free
They know how to bear the toil
Of non-slavery
We can speak to them now, in smiles and concepts
Hands stretched out in lieu of hearts
What if all they need becomes a given?
Does it matter if they no more can want?
What will drive the legs to the next crosswalk
At First and Main, Royal and Squalor
When the hole deep inside
Can be lit with the lamp of the stars?