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Wading through the misty lamp-lit streets
I stumble upon a pigeon at a windowsill, and dream


You shan’t ever know of all the ambiguous witching hours
Between yesterday and today, with all of their thoughts


Thoughts falling in fragments like the clouds
Precipitating toward the earth, and down


Down through channels and meandering roads
To other convergences with birds


It’s a sudden flood through weary avenues
And surrender to the evening powers –


I scarcely thought I’d see me sleep
And shed persistent reveries flitting brief


And will you shed your ghostly handle on my being?
I’ve slipped out the bedroom window, and yet you watch me dream


Desiccated passageways between the lamp-lit districts
Of you and I, and on my way I paused beside a windowsill
From which I saw it fly.