I’m in love with early morning, but not here:
the thin, breakable blue skim of sky I glimpse
between the spears ofcement palisade over my head
transports me to that other extreme: that same brittle blue breaking
over the Cotswolds, solitary bundles of sheep
herding wisps of fog haltingly up the limestone slopes
toward the slow simmer of dawn, all soundless
and hushed. I see it, hear it: a distant cowbell,
(not the harsh warble of the baozi vendor heating propane
on his bicycle’s trailer on the sidewalk), a cable-knitted figure
emerging with unhurried purpose from the kitchen door
of the farmhouse, pauses, lifts his head and his mug, breathes.
The steaming buns plop into my plastic bag
and the vendor grins at me. Zao! Morning! Yes, I am early;
it is early morning. And there is blue in the sky
today. Even here.