The window releases a gasp

of inside life,

of half voices and doors closing.


Delinquent sounds muddy the outside.

A car radio lips out

a samba, entertaining tapping fingers

and flowered dresses swaying.


Casual clouds, rugged images

cast to the street, sliding into alleys,

covering the homeless.


Café tables stream with words

As they flip over condiments, ice water

and pretentious menus.


Dreams are made from day,

dripping into night without sound.






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