An original glimpse of morning light

Cools quietly

In a slow tipped ebb

 

Or brim resuming

On the surface of smooth backed insects.

A familiar mist

 

Hangs light shades of blue

And purple diluted

On an otherwise indifferent canvas.

 

But a flaw in the plan of nature

Becomes apparent

When the sparks light up

In the city distance.

 

And dew dries leaving behind

A residue, the texture of leather.

 

And the mist moves slow into nothing

And all the insects creep away

And just when you think it's all over

The traffic starts.