We are in an attitude of reflection, in a soft rain.
Cars move throughout the city in lines, following the red light flashing
up on the tower. Today the smokestacks seem brave. We
are in the news, poised to extinguish a direction when bloodroot pushes
up from the softened ground. Now we are encircling the narrator, closing
in, sorting ourselves out from the vortex that fails to acheive us at its
culmination.