on dawn’s grey hunting ground
the buildings break the sky
with points and right angles

as phantasms play a game
of keep-away with the light
curvilinear swimming in the rays

spots of water fall on our eyes
and chins that are bent upward
before turning downward to the walk

of concrete blotched and dull
past the donut shop of coffees and oils
and early blank conversations

rising up from the escalator
leading down to a series of tunnels
filled with trains and people turning

with yellow lights at their helm
and the bending reds streaming
at their backs thru the dug-in dark

while above thousands of feet stomp
on their heads and wheels roll over
their upturned faces lit up

thru windows as they stand
shaking in the fluorescence of
the dry lulling train car

as light flickers above light
flickers below turning
faces on faces off and on

while the roar of planes are
heard but not seen and
the city is a desert in the rain

on a count of morning