Residue of pleasure

In the sky is heard
a blue-magpies voice.
Such freshness in
this dense sorrow.
A fable that is
light and humorous.
The streets cannot be lonely
deep within its warmth.
Even the winter sun breaks
through the strands of damp.
And the bright moon,
half- soaked with pain.
Feels neither joy nor sorrow.
But is once again able to
find the road home.


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