Bedrooms dull with cloud
and rumble dawns
making masked entrances.

Lightning stammers.
The usual loops miniscule
banished in brim of burst

to lay quiddities of gutter inlets scoring
the pavement cursive in downpours
on equalled sheets of rain refrain.

High above choirs the shell-propulsion 

of a jet, lungs like turbines giving chase
round flight paths and airways

their window view
regards me with journey,
their days withdraw over borders.

Then cold we lope from room to stairs
avoiding the wiles of winter coming
full of charge from the street.

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