Who knew we were
performing for our
neighbors, who themselves
were actors in
the show we were watching
on the flat screen in
our living room?
Was it only our piercing
imagination that
made this art possible
or is every edifice
on the cul-de-sac
a facade, lit by
leikos or fresnels?
Sometimes I think
winter is a type
of intermission
all by itself and
the rain is nothing
but applause.
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