diurnal
the light this morning is shaving-thin
and smells of the outgoing tide:
fish, diesel, all those things water forgives
when high but reveals when it bulges
on the opposite side of the world.
and sounds:
ringing bell. crash of metal
a boxcar swinging into place on a ship.
spare some change, ma'am?
the click of commerce, the cries
of the hawkers with newspapers.
my morning before the blur of coffee
and computers, is redolent of harbor
a whiff of a hundred years ago.
it never changes, it just fades.
and these are the streets I thump
with my black boots, my blue jeans,
my place in this world.
8.29.00