the two scurried down the street
the dog followed
little pebbles fly
a shoelace untied
the street is grey
and so is the sky
the only color around
was that in their eyes
out of breath
on the curb of the street
the dog barks
one looks down the drain
way below the grate
a small gleam
one crouches closer
not close enough it seems
the other one nears
and the dog too
by then a hand stretching for it
as if it were true
the other sees it now,
“The gleam, the gleam!”
the first,
“I’m trying,” he screams
the gleam looks back
as the tiny hand reaches
from its view
beams across their dirty faces
the dog noses its way through
also wanting to see
yet deep down below the drain
there was no gleam to be seen