I’m awake in the sleep of an early end
with a cup at my fingers,
and the rhythm of Latin rocking my thumbs.
Beyond, the voice of an office discharged,
snaking and tripping across the road
and into the cafe, limp and unwound.
Now slumped into corners and reading at tables,
the bitter, warm smell of roast and the hiss of the coffee machine
diffuse in the damp, stormy air;
and an amber light rising everywhere in the heavy dusk.