I stood on the bridge stretching its way into the open mouth of morning
and watched the city rouse itself from last night’s dream
the soft rumble underfoot yawning itself into a louder growl
the birds finding their voice
red lights on cars still blinking and bright
the sky still the colour of night
you almost never realise how loud it all is
until you stand there just in time to hear it pull back the rough blanket of dawn
still folded three times over
I could almost feel the sun waiting at the edge of the sky’s brimming plate
about to spill itself out and pool china and gold—
and the streets began to creak under the weight of all its inhabitants
roaming it lonely and hopeful and here
