And then their eyes, made flat by night,
Swell into a Madonna-like surprise
At children trooping back in huge disguise.
The oranges in lunch-room windows change
To sleek suns dipped in sleepy light,
And rounded tarts in china plates
Are like red heart-beats, resting but not dead.
A trolley-car speeds by
And seems a strident lyric of motion.
Wagons rumble down the street