Late night breezes drift

over cooling sidewalks, circling

vendors with hands of profit

and eyes labored with sleep.

Paper lanterns, the skin of butterflies

twist lazily, casting light fragments

onto storefronts and strangers.

Voices, parts of sentences and half words

pass under weathered awnings;

the air is thick like legs running underwater.

Lime Street breathes night.

Hours capture quiet, holding the blanket near,

comforting the minutes before dawn.



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