Gliding over all,
the sorcerer waves his wand
and manifests a glowing ball,
standing ninety-nine feet tall,
casting a diffuse shadow
over all the things that crawl,
darkening the malls
and the stores and the pubs
and the miles and miles of concrete
that pave the vast, suburban hall,
his breath sternly stalled,
as he strokes his flailing beard
while hard sheets of raindrops fall,
his eyes like a reclining doll's,
seeing everything an eye could see
and a few things in between,
the sole soundtrack a cacophany
of disparate, soft crows' caws.
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