Oh they tell stories,

gathered together along the cracked concrete,

slipping inside the fissures, laughing,

where no one can bother their stance,

she was standing alone,

when eyes seemed to reach,

asking to be noticed,

and everything stopped,

until shadows appeared ready with a tale,

if only they might create a motion,

glance quickly for the lighting

could easily change to draw more

figures of speech,

the conversations we think about later on,

nightfall, only the streetlights,

in a cool spring rain,

dripping windows,

as life continues in scarves and umbrellas

holding hands,

while making their way to somewhere,

shadows lingering nearby,

always aware.