Bubbles drift down the side street
From the flute of reeds
Played by the boy
Busking for spare change.
Passersby see their reflections in
The rippling surface as the orbs hang
In the air before them.
Some linger, entranced
And see something more.
Futures near and far
and scenes of indeterminate time.
They slip a coin into the waiting hat
And when it jingles full
The boy smiles, sneaking off on legs
Furred with short brown fleece and
Feet of cloven hooves.