Critical

They crowd the corner waiting for the light --
But no one notices the darkness, whole
And incomplete, embracing every soul
That scatters up the sidewalk through their fright.
And in the certainty that fills the night
Each offers up an overflowing bowl,
Each spill evaporating every goal
Into a crystal salt of endless spite.

The pressing crowd is pushing at the edge
Where too much light means nothing can be seen
Until a fellow falls from too much leaning
Off of the sidewalk as though from a ledge
The crosswalk is the borderland between
The nihilistic void and perfect meaning.