Dawn Forever Ascending
by Odin Roark

5am

Uptown.
Downtown.

Street lights fade,
their tiny soft-winged tenants flee,
checkerboard facades change,
last night's illumined streetlamps now dark
become yet another yesterday,
some gleaming,
some weather-streaked,
all waiting to help reflect another eve’s breath.

Steam ascends from the city's vacuum,
gratings rattle with subterranean yawning,
people-movers wind their way
through mazes of starts,
stops.

6am

Topside tracks,
like fixed contrails,
glisten with frost,
not yet enjoined by speeding transit,
their skeletal tributaries
to deliver the rush of humanity
into Manhattan’s massive glass and steel survival.

A street sweeper's tire rubber and swirling brushes,
Maneuvered by an early-rise wage earner
holds firm the wheel and gears
gathering gutter-lodged disposables,
glass and plastic,
paper and cardboard,
cans and assorted feces
spin into the everyday vortex,
lifting yesterday's careless cast-offs,
making way for today's carelessness anew,
civilized reflections of another kind.

7am

Leashes strain with anxious sniffing,
bladders hold,
ready to burst,
seeking just the right tree,
the right hydrant,
the "ah, yes" that only a canine can know.

Rays of sun begin spilling down alleyways,
the long-tail rodents scamper for cover,
their bellies full,
seeking safety after a long night of ancient ritual,
food of anything,
digestion of history,
all in a night's work.

8am

Full light cascades down avenues and streets
as itinerant pigeons and seagulls spread habitual wings,
ready to adore the steadies,
the loners,
park walkers,
window ledge elders,
homeless with crumbs,
envying the moneyed insomniacs
throwing baguettes gone stale
fit for few, a feast for many.
Suddenly the symphony of loving coos and warbles
bobbing heads with thank you
become a reciprocal bonding
perhaps only the lonely appreciate too well.

9am

Finally the city’s steel and glass achievements
come fully alive,
ushering in weepers and dreamers,
hands exchanging money
some for the pretzel vendor
more for the hedge fund taker
little for the cookie jar provider.

As the day winds down…

Most become but another tomorrow's yesterday,
knowing little of the other light
requiring no rising or setting,
illumination that never grows dim,
one’s forever light
always available for darkness,
forever reminding open and closed eyes;
one's inner dawn can be forever ascending.