The Suns of Thunder Meet the Sisters of the Moon

Racing to be caught by a train.

Tag and you're it for the very last time.

Dawn as the slow opening of a sleepy eye

Cyclops dawn.

One bright, piercing orb

Right before inserting the phrase that tells us who we are and where we are going.

For the next 40 minutes I will ride in a metal box

cocooned in plastic,

bathed in fluorescent  light,

metal at my knees,

rubber at my feet,

breathing recirculated air,

air that was first warmed to temperature of blood,

then it cooled to room temperature by the time it reached me.

And then another passenger opens the door and let morning in.

The heater fights a losing battle against the cold.

Steel birds throwing themselves in the fire

smoking and steaming as they go

Immolated at the birth of a new day

What fresh flames banked by dawn's early light

break out anew and bath the city in fires glow