The thunder has rolled through
Has passed
Has left the thick mist of quenched concrete hanging in the air
With the songs of a few literal early birds
(3 a.m. but they're determined)
The streetlights are pouring down
Like paintbrush sunrays
Onto this perfect and deserted street
My skin is enlivened and the moon is riding the highest wave in the late night sky
A golden honey pot cutout bursting at the brim
Showboating and preening
All for me
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