When stars come out. The flute and the ruby

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.

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