A voice comes down from the cloud,
I listen quietly, the gate closes behind.
Standing here, watching the still, // delicate blue sky.

Until a guard who // wears a reflective vest,
Appears behind. He waves,
"You cannot take photos here."

"This is a private place"
I stand on the street, listening,
He yells that this place is private.
I look toward the clothing stores // on both sides,
They watch me from behind their windows,
"Arrest me then, please,
For taking photos under the sky."

Standing there, watching the running clouds
And the flowing, lazy people, // the street.
I face the guard, smiling,
I know he has no gun in hand.

What he wears // at his waist is called awkwards,
What he wears is // the authority called private,
For this place,
He shouts at me, swinging his hand,
I smile back, without uttering a word.

Laughter escapes from the shadows like bats.
A couple, now shooting photos // through the glass windows,
Displaying intimate postures in this place.
He quickly walks away, // then, to shout at them,
Under this private blue sky.