Blue heavens are always open
above clouds. Far below voices linger,
busily hurrying with little thought
A flat wax, misty day quiets the travelers
holding handles and scratched
metal poles, attempting to remain upright
as the subway attacks their gravity.
Trench coats and book bags sway as
cars tunnel noisily through a labyrinth
A portion of the city is underground for
morning. Weaving in transit. Arriving in
the hustle. Escaping to the surface.