I feel cupping glasses
sticking on my front
wet leaves striking the windows
pain squeezing my heart
as if it were a wine press
eyes are burning with dry fever
loneliness is bitter-sour
I stretch my hand towards the moon
see her floating between clouds
like a green nut in jelly
my fingers sweat cold
the wind is crowding in wagons
vagabond dogs bark
pneumatic hammers forging
neighbor’s quarrels
night darkness and lights
amidst car sirens
a seagull passes
like a soft balm
over city tides
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