What's this caught
                   By the corner of my eye?
                       Whisper of a ghost?
                      Angel from on high?
                        Careful watcher
                       Sees through me.
                        But, when I look
                          Where is he?
                        Gone? Or was he
                      Really there at all?
                             

                   Still waters in the parking lot
                     Reflect the soul of the city.
                 Mirrored images on the ground
                   Ripple on the mired surface.
                Passing faces cought by the pool,
                  Underlined with a film of dirt,
                   Show no sorrow, do they care
                      And do they stop to look?
                                  I think not.
               Then, disturbed by an errant step,
            All is lost.  Is there no more reflection?