In the morning light

In the morning, the
Sun shines on one side
Of my face.
As if on a leaf.

The wind ruffles the
Clouds in a playful pattern
Behind factory chimneys.
As if spray paint.

The crows circle the
Broken terrace of my house
Near the slowing river
As if in conference.

The dying man
Caresses the footpath
Underneath
As if an aesthete.

In the morning
Sorrow calls, in the
Subtlest of ways
As if in need of an end.