orange of street lamps fades
among the dark tree-laden fissures
within the brightening gray sky above
hovering over the park below
Mesmer's envy is felt
in the show of floating flakes
within the last minutes of
the street lamp glory
no greater hypnotist exists
than these clippings of
the frozen clouds
in their journey in the breeze
and their pause in stillness
but journeys carry on
shaken awake by worn roads
in the waning winter morning
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