The sounds

The sounds had come in before dawn from a glimmer over buildings, spread hiding some distinctive cuckoo throats trying to break free, from future and rain.

There was breeze , mostly from darkness that seems to have come from the vapors of a few ghosts of clouds in a tainted sky.

As the hours grew large to sounds of fury I am turned to a Brecht’s stone fisherman holding this stone up a banner of triumph to less fortunate hours of no fish or stone.

(Reference is to Brecht’s poem about old Stone Fisherman who displays his prized catch of a stone each time his net comes up with another stone to the less fortunate ones)

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