People at tables in long rows,
Receding faces blued by computer screens.
Overhead a symphony of light fixtures
Hang like glabrous fruit.
The homeless have taken their stations
Cursing to their vacant companions.
An owl near the Swift collection
Calls to Coleridge’s birds.
A coelacanth in natural history
Stalks someone by the creaking radiator.
Ophelia’s lament echoes up the grand marble staircase.
A switch has taken place without people knowing it — magnetic north has been replaced by a wind sock.