Zephyr through the awning shadow. Star-like glimpse upon the weeping leaves. Rest yourself my weeping widow. With the your news of grave defeat. With the shafts of each fraction.
Lights on the bridges and a smokestack far away. Smoke turns to indigo in the ending business day. The taxicabs' assault on the potholed asphalt. They parry and lunge 'neath the thin winter sun who's.