A dozen lives, a little slice,

between two buildings in the night.

And with each life, an open page,

a ready pen and empty stage.

_

Outside this slice, one thousand more,

With fears, and dreams, and wants for more.

One million now, just further still,

a different creek, a different hill.

For you and I, one billion more,

our lyrics, notes and scenes and score.

-

Yet each of us, a single eye,

our only view upon our lives.

What are our worlds, the things we see,

and do we share this mystery.

Or do we not, and each our own,

a slice of life, all alone.