"crosscurrent morning"


Streetcar wires shivering above the block,
first light wringing at last night’s worn edges.

A bin truck grinds somewhere behind the shops,
its metal cough slipping under the hour.

Pigeons lift from a rooftop ledge,
their wings catching the weak shine.

A bottle rolls across the pavement,
not kicked, just moving on its own drift.

Your step lands in a shallow film of runoff,
cold grit rising through the sole.

A bus door hisses open down the street,
no passengers, just the sound releasing itself.

A shadow crosses the shopfront glass once,
too quick to read, too slow to ignore.

And the morning keeps unfolding,
steady as breath, uneven as the city’s pulse.






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