Late in the city night flute tones clean, cool blown feather-light float up through humid air to where I try to sleep. I turn my head and directly across from my high-floor room a window glows red like a ruby stone.
The city is cooled by clear, flowing song. A ruby light shines out of the night.
Is it all for my sake?
The flute will sing on till I sleep or perhaps
till I wake.