Something stirring in the night:
it is the warmth and glow
in the pulse of the digital city.
Lights are set in rows as if
pressed in peg boards
in an arcade dream.
Money fluctuates, changes hands.
Clocks wind down; people must
sleep eventually (there is someone
on the terrace now, blowing kisses
to himself). Windows go out
and murmurs die.
So it goes (all energy dissipates
and then reforms). There are blind
people who always - and yet sometimes
never - sleep.