My city

The morning sun rising
cresting black tar and limb
gleams in eyes of windshield and colored paint
while shadows slowly move to long
and shortened hiding place
rebel birds quieted from the hour
begin their songs again
soles languish under cover
as alarms call to tread.
And it will not stop until the moon,
and sometimes even then,
wakens up the lights of eve
the stars and night birds
of commerce street’s wing.