from Alex Skovron’s “Water Music” – Sunspots

The people have filled the city’s open spaces,

they stand shoulder to shoulder, expecting everything.

The platform above the Square is empty.

A buzz of unease caresses the bare heads,

their coronas of hair thinning into the breeze;

see the rolled-up newspapers, the scarves that twitch.

The hum mounts to a whisper, the whisper

delivers its secret, the secret

is betrayed, spreads like an epidemic;

outside the city they are building a pyramid of books.