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city dawn

have you ever felt the night rise from the city?

the plush dark sighs, and her breath

fogs up the pane between planet and universe

so that—slowly—a moist film of gray appears,

behind which the sun is heaved by trembling arms.

and as shadow slides herself from the streets,

the river washes away his stolen lights while skyscrapers

blink their thousand eyes and push their bodies into view.

night yawns, and her graveyard peoples

(bartenders, nurses, taxi drivers, corporate grunts)

stumble, sleep dragging at lids of wrinkled tortoise eyes,

to beds streaked with egg-yolk light.

Poem: ANNIE THOMPSON is a native Minnesotan who will keep traveling but will return to the Midwest as soon as fall arrives.

Art: ELENA RENKEN grew up in Saint Paul and has lived in the Summit-University, Highland Park, and Cathedral Hill neighborhoods. She is a science writer and has studied science and society at Brown University in Rhode Island. In her spare time, she is an avid baker, ceramicist, photographer, and screen printer.


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