who can see her,
old lady paper~cutter
swallowed in shadows,
silhouette in the flow
of neon-digital netizens.
who can see her
ancient hands disappear
into discarded centuries;
a face, a window-flower,
precise lines of her dignity,
binned as a burger-wrapper.
who can see her,
will she return next year?
New Year will re-appear,
the neon-city brighter
fireworks flash louder;
our lives, more fevered;
as a line, fine as paper
is severed, forever.