Dawn hits
With muted brilliant fingers
Snaking up the skyline
And I sit
In a private quiet
That only comes at this time
Smell the bread and pastries
Made while babes slept
Scent creeping out as they're lain
In their display cases
Hear the soft rustlings
Of an older generation
Hanging scrubbed linens on window casings
To dry with the early morning sun
In my mind I walk the cobblestones
Up the winding paths
Lined with women
Creased with love that lean out windows
Watching my spirit
Traverse with my ancestry
Here I am not alone
But float gently with those who came before me
I have to return soon and leave
Them to continue their soft journey
Which makes me sad
But they are with me everywhere
And when the next dawn hits
With its muted brilliant fingers
Snaking up the skyline
They will be waiting.
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