When we meet upon this busy street,
and look each other in the eye,
we make a covenant together against oblivion.
If only for the moment.
The lights, the noise,
the vendors selling—
brands and names—
assurances and comforts.
What, were we to turn aside,
going down that darkened alley,
would we survive, and are we—still alive?
If we fade into that darkened disappearing,
will we exist, anymore?
Like leaves fallen into deep waters,
their brilliance flashing in the sunlight,
fluttering downward, deeper,
and then no more?
Who greets us in those darkened depths,
would Christ meet us at the bottom?
Is there rest within,
or endless floating, whirling—
stirred up and moving,
moving, and moving.
We become old men and women,
walking quietly to our ends.
Smiling at the sunshine,
and at the laughing children—
seeing, but unseen—
our beings vanish into this light,
disappearing down the alleys.
Populating busy streets no more.
We go, to the alleys, we go.