Just one piece

I know your flickers and tricks
your heaps of clouds.

The cause of the chorus of gold mirrors
for just a few moments;
a chord in light
sounding out the end of day.

But you will be packed one day
into a spot
vacuuming all that you dropped
almost carelessly -
things that would like to collectively name themselves a city.

The roadways will snake back into your maw,
the chimneys sigh upward;
trees whistling their leaves away
until the last blade of grass in the last park
is picked.

And then

there will be nothing to see
and no one to sit at a window
giving small wonderment to it all.