outside my window

the sainted candles keep guard on my windowsill
beyond that, is Maggie street
each house a different color of the rainbow
no gingerbread houses here
the birds insist upon singing the day into beginning
I can hear them now
even as I feel my body moving toward sleep
and a day that shall be my night
later the bird chatter will give way to children chattering
scented by the whiff of newly cut grass
it is Sunday
and this week is beginning
or ending
depending on who you are

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