two muddy streets
intersect in a puddle
and the foam floating on it
is rushing to one side,
surprising it hasn't
gotten there yet, really.
in the air there's fluff
also pushed on the wind
omnipresent like some
kind of overbearing
metaphor but then
the wind flips direction
and the foam rushes back again
cycling to and fro
on air's whim
but my mind's eye
still holds the opposite
and there's beauty in this
contradiction
as when people pulled
to and fro
build themselves impossibly
from both