la monde d’jour

a kosmos of the day

loosens itself from morning’s sleeve,

small radiances drifting out

like fruit‑dust shaken off a market stall.

streets breathe in temporary constellations,

each passerby carrying a private sky

stitched for daylight use only.

by evening, the world folds its wings,

tucks it into whatever eave stays warm,

and waits for tomorrow’s version

to rise with a different face.

.