Morning Geometry

The concrete exhales its stored heat into the pale, forgiving violet of five a.m., while traffic lights perform their mechanical waltz to an audience of none.

Shadows pull back from the brickwork, sharp angles softening in the early mist that clings to the river like discarded silk, heavy and damp with unresolved dreams.

A lone train sighs across the distant overpass, its silver spine catching the first fracture of light, as the city waits, suspended in breath, before the noise returns to claim it.