On the B train, dozing to visions
Of laces tied round small gatherings of hair
On the tops of heads who know not yet of this is where
And the socks that wear loose on their skinny feet
Of lace curtains over clean windows hang
Filtering moonlight, keeping still, keeping time
Keeping everything but sorrow in their papery minds
Parchment over archways over carpeted stairs turn tiled floor darkened gray
Under bed canopies draped slightly too long
Their dreams are canvases keeping blank
Just the notion of ink dripped to a page
Canvas-covered crates of caramel ribbons
Yet to be cut, wrapped, tied and worn