Intermezzo

Now is the fleeting time of fireflies,
The intermezzo prefacing night’s theme.
The world transposed appears before my eyes

Astonishing, like waking in a dream.
A late, listless breeze murmurs in the air,
A spent summer day dissipates downstream.

The searing sun has put away his glare,
And twilight tiptoes onto softer skies,
Where distant clouds loom like unexpressed prayer—

Dense, pent-up masses that billow and rise.
But just as they reach the climactic note,
The interlude fades, the orchestra sighs,

And all that is left is what I then wrote.
That, and the flickering lights still afloat.

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