Desalination Morning

At dawn the desalination plant exhales, its silver lungs misting the harbor cranes. Gulls stitch white thread through steam, and the sea tastes briefly of coins and rain.

Inside, membranes hum like cello strings, drawing salt from the throat of the tide. Workers in orange gloves pass thermos cups, their laughter bright as struck glass.

On the catwalk, a woman checks the gauges, sunlight pooling in each dial. Behind her, tanks hold a new weather, clear water waiting in quiet columns.

By noon the city drinks without noticing: fountains lift their practiced wrists, kettles begin their small thunderstorms, and every window carries a little ocean inland.