-Abracadabra-

The low-lying clouds brighten

And below them
The asphalt is warming.
The street begins to waken
To its common activities. 

The cherry blossom tree
In front of the brown house
Across the street has flowered.
It will be that way for a few days
Until the blossoms fall,
Covering everything beneath them
In pink petals as if anticipating a function.

As of now, the blossoms
Have the morning

Running through them
As the population mans
Its early machinery, cranking-up
The engines of rejuvenation.
The heavy factories flex their sweltering

Muscles in the distance and the sky seems
To pull the smoke from their stacks. 
They’ll cool to postmortem

Grey in early evening
But before that happens
The interiors will grow hotter.

There was a time when
Not much seemed recognizable. Then

Everything showed-up unexpectedly
Like a knock at the door of the wrong address.

Now there are things to attend to

And stories to define or confess, you know,
In case the people show-up

With time on their hands and nothing
Up their sleeves.
I enjoy the recurring company

And the best part is they seldom
Make excuses as to why they leave.
They simply vanish to be found somewhere else.
Abracadabra.

Anyway, after reading one or two I'd rather not
Stick around too long myself.