Unmoored, drifting— a face blurs 
against window reflections, is it mine? 
A stranger’s? No matter.

Streetlights flicker in shallow pools, 
mirror-puddles swallowing neon, while a palm tree bends— 
wind pressing, steel humming quiet.

Petals scatter, soft confetti 
caught between tram rails, dissolving— 
the last echoes of footsteps slipping away.

Stone rises, rigid symmetry— glass glints, 
unfeeling, against the dawn. Beneath a bridge, 
unnoticed vines creep, pulling at concrete like forgotten hands.

The boulevard moves forward. And so do I.