Remaining Hours

this something that is not alive

and can never be born.

this something hidden from the eyes, lost 

among metal and wheels and wings.

there was a time when the sky was there not to be touched.

the sounds of the city spoke through me amongst train lines of despair,

everlasting confusion in a world that cannot face this night

or any other night.

I watched days coming to life in glimpses of unreality, shadows

of dead dreams in a theater stage.

it turned real when I got in the bus.

and I see this thing in every car, every corner

of every road,

traffic lights and buildings made of glass,

mirrors reflecting an unseen sun.