in the breath of the lights,
I wander through the hysterical
questions of urban mystery.
they play like a forgotten measure
of an ancient symphony, recorded
on mental parchment...
with my invisible fingers, I try
to trace those chords
back to the harmonic puzzle
from whence they came.
yet, I am swallowed by dissonant
voices, speaking from the black windows
and rubicund eyes, burnt
into memory.
so, do those questions
still exist somewhere
beneath that
which is
audible?
I do not yet hear them.