The sounds had come in before dawn
From a glimmer over buildings, spread
Hiding some distinctive cuckoo throats
Trying to break free, from future and  rain.

There was breeze , mostly from darkness
That seems to have come from  the vapors
Of a few ghosts of clouds in a tainted sky.

As the hours grew large to sounds of fury
I am turned to a Brecht's stone fisherman
Holding this stone up a banner of triumph
To less fortunate hours of no fish or  stone.

(Reference is to Brecht's  poem about old Stone Fisherman
 who displays his prized catch of a stone each time his net 
comes up with another stone to the less fortunate ones)


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