A city rain fell in long lines,

washing dust into gutters.


Twilight, the mistrals of dark,

waved hands of breezes

over streets with quiet sounds.


Engines of feet plodded into puddles,

splashing wetness with disregard.


Night dreams creep from open windows.

The sound of doors

mark the clock of darkness.


Bedroom lights signal days resign.

Ceiling fans cut into fat air

and lazy dust.


The ashes of spoken words

drift to floors where

half truths and lies

live in shadows.


Troubled thoughts smooth out

over sleep,

and then, we are pulled into day.




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