They’d come pre-dawn, as if stars, lights first, late hum turning to roar and fading to drum, as if the midpoint of the bedstead led them, each a safe twenty minutes behind the one ahead.
Day changed cleft, and planes’ harmonies deferred to the escalating scales of wind-bourn commutes, eaves’ birds & the click of close car doors the high notes in the symphony.
Cherry Coombe 
Good to see the words flowing from you again.
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