They make noise all the time.
Babble to Apple, and grappling to a fable.
You can't keep them glued to something.
They wear different shoes.
Slip across ages, don new hats
and tip them off to giants
marching-by with their muses.
At the restaurants, they wait to be mouthed.
Wait across tables for existence.
They attend to theories at a conference
often dozing off into nonsense.
Nothing is sacrilege to them.
They get to the greatest feeling
thought to be beyond their reach.
They pry open the past and draw out
the surviving crumbs of meaning.
Breaking boundaries is a chore.
They form the messages on glass ceilings.
Whether there is hope or not, they are there.
Desert roses blooming for the slightest dew.
They engulf this world and may be other ones too.
Happiness and sadness, are their anointed favorites.
And they are meant even in their absence.