I am pulling out of this city on a bus,
it is just after dawn,
the clear light cuts in angles the tan sides of buildings.
Somewhere in the jumble you are softly asleep,
your hair lying curled on the pillow
kept dark by still window-shades.
I think of you lying gently curled in a nest of warm blankets,
eyes shut, unaware.
As the bus lumbers around a corner and groans out of the morning city
you turn a little bit, and sigh.
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