The tree of footsteps

The crowd-giant lingered
on the chest of the pale blue road
with great pride and indifference
dressed up in colors

Somewhere in his hair
an old man stretched his arms
far out across his chest
let out some clouds of smoke
embraced the air
dropped his walking stick
and walked a few yards

The wing beats of pigeons
and the tree of footsteps
rattling in the wind
clapped, applauded

The crowd-giant growled restlessly,
the ear sank into the neck
the clatter dispersed
and the tree of footsteps faded out,
silently.
His blast of laughter shooed away the cluster of smiles,
in pieces
kicked away poor, homeless children
with scorn


because they scatter his universe
into people.