that 6:30 emptiness appeals to me most on autumn days when the aluminum light of dawn is no longer hoisted high by busy bird song, but hasn't yet been blacked out by cloudy catatonia, when my city becomes, for so brief a time, an empty church where i can walk quietly because no one is there, when every brake light and traffic signal is picked out in isolation and the wind blows no trash and the crows can't commit to east or west, but remain wise and unhindered as broken clouds drift in broken bands in slow procession toward the high rises, their destination past the horizon, but i'm gone by then, on a quiet bus, with the windows open, separating seeds from banal contentment, knowing only how fleeting this moment is, in autumn, on my way to work, to hear a lone crow's call.
October 8, 2021
