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Four twenty-three
The room is still blue
A glass on the windowsill
Cold at the edge
Somewhere below
A delivery van closes a door
Then quiet again
The buildings haven’t changed their shape
But black is thinning into grey
A kitchen window three blocks down
Comes on and stays
No footsteps in the hallway yet
No voices through the wall
Only pipes beginning somewhere
One floor at a time
Far beyond the rooftops
Metal touches metal
A sound too low to follow
Moves under the sleeping streets
Not here yet
Not gone
Before the city knows
Before the shutters rise
Before the crossing starts to blink
Before the morning has a name
Stay with this hour
While it still belongs to no one
Before the city knows
A train passes far enough away
To sound more like weather
Three windows catch its moving light
Then give it back
The curtain lifts without a reason
The glass begins to clear
Nothing in the room has moved
But everything is less dark
There
Did you hear it?
Rails in the distance
A low electric hum
Then birds
Only two or three
Not morning yet
Someone drags a crate across the street
A bicycle clicks beneath the trees
The vending machine across the road
Loses its blue against the sky
Soon there will be doors
Keys
Coffee
Names called from another room
But not yet
Before the city knows
Before the first wheels turn
Let the distant train go on
Without needing to be there
This hour asks for nothing
It only changes color
Before the city knows
You can hear the day
Before you can see it
Grey along the window frame
Silver on the roofs
The train is farther now
Or maybe everything else is closer
No reason to get up yet
Another window comes on
Then another
The room is still quiet
But no longer blue
