It's a half-open otherworld lately.
Misty metallic air, an atmosphere woven with ghosts.
Rain's electricity fragrance.
It's Spring, though. Says so right here.
The weather even searches for softball.
Pull a tarot card.
Candles puff their ominous orange flowers
There's a twinkle in the eye of every pond
glitter in the inhale
exhale
of dusk and dawn
and all of us can fly.
Trees crack their backs and
All black cats can talk.
Birds chirp.
Your window opens.
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