twilight creeps in with the gold dust, the broken handles of windows
candle bulbs in tower windows, crossed by the weakening dark and purple, the low shadows and the breath of the city in cotton, the clapping of shoes and ice cream buds strapped into waffle petals, the ringing of the evening star, loudest 
in the dimness, the matchbox beds and the cat’s eye
welcome mats of concrete like open graves.

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