-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 participating in a function.

As of now, the blossoms

Have the morning

Running through them

And 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 suck 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 house.

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 me with the universe

Up my 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, having been there, after reading one or two,
I'd rather not stick around too long, myself.