We awake within a thin state
of dreaming, half there and the other part
opening up with a stretch.
The song of city streets
releases motion. An early overcast
creates pale chalky grey shadows
onto faces hurrying and stained sidewalks.
A harmonica in apartment 2-B ripens by
the minute. The sound works to blend
a familiar song; fingers snap to the beat,
someone whistles.
Burnt toast wafts from the kitchen. A rusty hinge
aches with opening. Below, a garbage truck
fills up on trash.
Roger Singer 