Empty three-piece-suits drift
down by the water,
over the bridge,
filling sidewalks,
draped loosely over cafe chairs,
hanging from rails
in subway cars.
They gather and swirl,
motes of dust in an urban desert
yearning for the next sandstorm.
Pacing parched streets,
coat sleeves bleaching
under the beating sun
the suits wait.
When the storm doesn't come,
they limp home
to darkened windows.
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