Night and Day

Another poem of mine. I still have edits I want to make. In fact, I removed the second half of the original poem because they were clashing a little bit too much.

At night, the lights from the barrios are the Milkyway.
At dawn, slum and slime wash
over the hills of houses.

The sun sucks life from the morning-glory.
That shriveled flower of the hill where nothing grows,
except faerie-girls named Flor,
All day they sleep off regrets,
Preparing their hidden blooms for night's enchantment

When those hovels are fields of fireflies,
the world is enchanted forest,
haunted by revolution, parity, and miscast god-
mother spells

Pistils and stamen quiver,
petals contort.
The wink and dance and fleeting payoff –
the hum of Flors' wings.
Every pin-pricked light gleams
burnished solidarity.
The fairies and ogres blow themselves out
at the stroke of dawn
when incandescent glass slips into second place.