キラキラ

I like to think of them
as motes aloft
in afternoon
sunbeams
and not
silica and lime,
shed skin,
and soot.

I like to think of them
as alive:
pixies in dance
disenthralled
by wind and wheels
from sluggish trance,
some torpor spell.
They bathe
the city
in golden
splashes.

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