"Turn left at the blue light."
	A soft spoken motorcar moves away, a receding beacon.
	Left has lost its senses; everywhere the blue light
	spills out, pervasively.
	"Look at the girl beside you on the seat, sitting
	still in the colourless interior.  Look at her eyes."
	(wide open, spacious skies, vacancies.)
	"Tell me:  What colour are they?"
	Now those eyes pervade the evening. 
	A soft spoken motorcar moves away.