Love walked alone. The party was nearly all
such parties ever are faces, voices, open arms.
But she had stepped outside without a word
or sign, then left the building for the street.
There she bent down, undid her shoes and stood
on the sidewalk in bare feet. She knew the city well,
had traced many paths through it, heard many times
the same hearts beat, the same voices, the same
silences and sighs. She could hear them now.
But every walk brought surprise, and tonight
there was singing somewhere, how far away
she was not sure, but a great many voices rose.
She went in what seemed the right direction,
following the grid of streets as if herself a note
upon a score. Something under her right foot
gave way loudly. It was a shard of broken glass
her tread had ground to powder. No pain, of course,
and no harm to her, or - was that a trace of red?
She looked and sighed, walked on and shook her head.