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A Window In The City

Finish the sink and polish the horse.
Unpack the moon. The code is morse:
.. / .- — / -. — — — / …. .. -.. -.. . -. / .. -. / -.. — — — . … — .. -.-. .. — -. — .-.-.-
(A green light lights up in the mind when you listen to the code.)
.. / .- — / -. — — — / …. .. -.. -.. . -. / .. -. / — …. .. … / -.-. .. — -. — .-.-.-
(Perhaps someone is simply dialing a telephone at warp speed.)
.. ..-. / -. — — — ..- / . — .- -. — / — — — / …. .. -.. . — .. — / -. — — — ..- / .- .-. . / …. .. -.. -.. . -. .-.-.-
(Like the sound of a submarine sniffing a flower on the sidewalk.)
.. ..-. / -. — — — ..- / . — .- -. — / — — — / -… . / … . . -. — .. — / -. — — — ..- / .- .-. . / … . . -. .-.-.-

And if there comes a time when neon must leave the skyline, I request
that they linger in morse — yes — if only for a time.

.. ..-. / — — -. .-.. -. — / ..-. — — .-. / .- / — .. — . .-.-.-