A yard of alleys,
A pawn of walls,
A shadow of a glimpse,
At the beck and call.
Deep into the alley,
Occurred a sudden flash
In search of light,
Occurred a shadow of plight.
A wall of mirrors appeared right,
Aside a lamp, within the sight—
A trap of gaze,
A sign of resign,
Met at the cusp
To dine with wine.
A song of lull,
A song of bye,
The mirror disappeared,
So did the wine.
The darkness withered,
morning stars aligned;
A strait appeared, but in decline.
Then appeared a sliver of light
On a fallen coin;
A reminiscence of youth,
Etched in fine lines.
At beck and call, a game of wait—
A cruel mechanic of its fate.
A swallow of human, without a trace,
A direction of fate towards its traitr
