the sharpening of building
the blurry of how we met.
when exactly was that?
the morning sky told me
dawn is the colour of people meeting
the first time
explained the receding colour of black
tinged with city light and day shine
in the guise of sleepless nights.
perhaps in every encounter
the only question awake in the dark of us
was how to make the sun rise.
the sky told me this:
every mo(u)rning starts with