The light casts a shadow of the sun
as the mind sits and weaves illusions.
Hope stirs a cup of fresh lemongrass tea
as despair washes itself away with rain.
Curtains of green and mustard bellow
a symphony of breeze adrift with petrichor.
The fairly lights will soon arrive in the mail
and there will be a dance among the greens.
Someday a bright blue dragonfly will visit
our little hanging garden on the 8th floor.
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