In the Hours Before Sunrise

I was a double rainbow that believed itself to be a tombstone that believed itself to be a rose. I was satisfaction and surrender, the North Star in witness protection after observing one too many crimes in the city streets below. In the predawn hours I was birdsong and a troubled blues at the crossroads. Angel fire and wish fulfillment, loaded dice and a deal made with the devil. I was the color wheel of love, grief, and hope. A ghost sheet hung out on a clothesline, billowed back to life by a soft and fragrant seance of breeze. In the hours before sunrise.

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