With their feet, they cut boundary lines in the soggy city streets.
In the fog, they become a city at the bottom of the sea,
its only inhabitants, all clothed in evening-wear, in midnight, in dusk
wearing a state of perpetual blue.
They breathe through cotton respirators
made in the guise of suits and dresses.
They fashion monograms out of memories
and pin them to their lapels before swimming
through the cracks in the cobblestone.
They refuse to look up,
to see the waves beyond the city’s edge, alight.
Forever blue, they will not ask:
what is that rising above the ocean floor,
red and orange,
blood and fire,
light and life…