when early autumn mornings are like a little aquarium

the pale gold of the streets, diluted by
that clear autumn light
brings sadness and nowhere, as the dewdrops
scatter on the leaf-strewn strips of lawn
by the pavements where
the dogs bully their owners to take another step.
and the bird-cherries, and the hawthorns
have already entered the competition
with the yellow strands the
birches offer, defying the green
of the oaks, the maples and the linden-trees.
and the sky is stretched suddenly
so tight over the endless
rotation of the city, where
people run in their wheels
like schools of fish, airless,
into a future that allows only blindness.

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