I check my watch—
it displays seven o’clock.
When I lift my eyes from the curb,
I pause,
held by stenciled orange mountain
crests before a wall of smeared charcoal.
Cream-pink streaks hang,
like a babe had stretched rain to cotton.
I can tell no drift to the clouds,
though a breath of air warms me.
Each bush and tree beams
colors deep like swelling fruit.
Wings dip and turn,
mixing and stirring the light.
The world halts, then exhales.
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