Morning
They walk the early city hours,
their faces greyer than the skies.
We know their presence, see them not.
We see each other with closed eyes.
They ride the early boulevards
in streams of steaming metalware.
We hear their presence, smell them not.
We only smell each other’s air.
We float the shining morning blue.
There’s no one else, just me and you.
This is Magpie Tale 250
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