of precipitation finally
in decline,
only the occasional
cumulus cloud lingers—
like a doubt
in the mind of an
innocent child—
in the purest blue
sky of unblemished afternoon.
To think: a mere
smattering
of miles away
from fires and riots
and torrents of rain,
every right angle
in this stainless city
is kissed
with the promise of light
til it gleams;
even the streams
of oncoming faces
seem so refreshed
as to have only just
appeared—
yet, the look
in their eyes is so
perplexingly familiar,
I must have seen it before
in my dreams.
