Sign boards shine

The sign boards shine
like the lines in a poem.
The cold scaffold of the moment
rings a hum reaching the depths.
A lost self reappears
in a dragon belch of the past.
It is an octopus self
playing a symphony of discord.

The clouds finally deliver the message.
It is eons late and is in Morse code
of stars dotting the sky.
Terrible significance of the self
reruns its stories but
the insignificance arrives finally
as a complete picture.