The Quiet Grinding

Steel exhales a long, white breath Before the sun catches the glass Towers holding the weight of sleep While the arteries hum below.

The garbage trucks sing their heavy song Crushing the remnants of yesterday Into tight blocks of forgotten things Leaving clean cement in their wake.

A solitary train rattles the tracks Carrying the first ghosts of the day Through tunnels that smell of damp iron To stations waiting in fluorescent grace.

The city stretches its concrete spine A beast waking to a measured beat Unaware of the silent gears That keep it turning towards the light.