At night I know the sorrows of the city.
Its rooftops take shape in darkness.
Its lights
remain the same
but windows form around them.
I too have distant fires
on riverbanks,
far points of light refracted.
I too have music low
and slow,
carefully selected.
Sometimes I see my breath condense upon the windowpane.
Sometimes I hear a bird well past the hour of sleep.
Sometimes I too take shape and can be seen.
Believe me
as I believe.
Through centuries the spires rise to greet me.
As darkness falls, a bridge turns luminous blue.
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