Their smoggy majesty I can barely see,
But everything is much clearer now
When you've cleaned the dirt from your mirrors
From sporadic rain that shimmers and dries,
Shimmers and dries like a mirage in the sand
Kicked up from the median.
Someone's crossing the double-yellow
While another runs a solid red.
The soft color of cement
Is something upon which my eyes can rest.
The same route feels different every time
And this home always smells like Christmas.
The mothering mountains protect what is mine,
What is once again the pride in my chest.
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