the air is warm and

damp and gray

and it sticks to yesterday’s

idle grime

only the sound of sleep

and feet on brick

but then

 

the birds are chirping

I can hear them-

not just one or two

the sound engulfs me

cacophonous and echoing

in the dome of fog

 

is this song an encore

of yesterday’s performance

or a warm-up for morning

 

or have they been tricked

by the stubborn lingering clouds

which are still trapping light

purple gray

so the birds think dawn

is coming soon

though it isn’t

 

and they wonder why we’re

the only ones awake