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Nocturne (Falling Gold over the Bosphorus Bridge)

A stormy night


Clouds gather in and over heads — the deep navy of the above covered in large 

gray strokes turn the air into canvas 

as thick as summer days where air sits burdensome on skin

Fairy lights cover the clouds, hanging haphazardly with cords sagging 

with fatigue lines blur like faded ink 

when the hairs of a brush, too dry for a smooth line, rub against paper too hard


Or is it fire in the air, gold and rubies falling from the Heavens rewards from Zeus for the few 

out and about at the edge of the night 

masked by fog — when the veil hanging between worlds 

                                                                                                 falls away 

like silk gliding across skin to pool around feet and Ghosts curious 

with nothing better to do come out to play — mingle with the few lucky bodies

But only the Greedy, dissatisfied with what falls their way

eye the river

and the specks disappearing into the constant flow of ebony 


They venture out into the black while the silhouettes of the Ghosts shake 

with omnipotent amusement

they have looked on as countless dived into fires and waters

to never resurface among that gloom


And as the Ghosts sit onlookers, too many rockets zoom across by the hour

the fog or clouds they light up for a second with the flash of the fireworks

the bodies wet in water can’t decide if they want more rockets or riches


The storm soldiers on

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