Gentle the clicking roof adjusts to the cool decay
and gives way to heat,
radios play in each quarter, signalling a return
from the silence that reigned a week ago,
cars growl up and down the unperturbed laneway
quietened and tamed, by a season of artifice,
now, the offices start to hum again,
purpose rules the roost - the workers, more urgent,
less milling around like tired drone flies,
sense more the stirring of something new,
something necessary that impels them forward..

The eyes are back, and upon them all,
along with outsized cars that occupy the senior spots,
normality has returned,
and with it the sobriety of being,
I - in a quiet moment, break free of the pedestrian
the ordinary,
and escape into the blue void of words,
and float out of the warehouse doorway,
out beyond the roasting smells,
and the blue pressed suits,
And the earnest talk of a short life's import,
and up, through the azure, threading with a flurry of letters,
and gently, reassemble - as a line of starlings,
or near as damn it, in a percussive flourish of notes,
on the power lines outside your door.