The broken light bends
beyond the horizon line,
coloring the trees and eaves
that just drowned shade
somewhere before water,
somewhat to the left of cement.
There is an aquarium air
to every action, from
children racing traffic to
the submerged flight of crows.
A stillness mingles
a solemnity dowsed with shadow
as summer swallows gravel for ballast,
mouthing oaths and epitaphs
all hindered without wind.
This fire line bled of cheap architecture,
the sun giving one last glance
to sustain these dreams of days.
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