Why must they shop without buying, without selling?

They shred the pieces without knowing the puzzle

Until the parts will never reunite.

At all their sides there are spaces,

Empty and round like eggs.

I long for the small things that could fill those gaps;

They may not anchor, but they can

unite.

There is a musical term similar to this, I recall.

So lively and rhythmic, as best as I recall.

If this is February, why has the Milky Way

Brought a July night into this calendar month,

And into these desolate streets—

to unite us?

We, who are here now, become

united forms.