Let`s start again

These Sunday siren songs,
an inconsequence of traffic,
the sharpness of new footsteps,
blow across bleak 6am.

Down the worn George St
flagstones, as Sir Walter Scott
frowns to the middle distance
and fearless city pigeons
purr their gentle warnings
to your name whistling through
the restless roadside trees.
Ad infinitum.

My shadow cowers and crawls
past a beggar`s offered cup,
in his sightless eyes
my words have no faces.
And I have no love to spare.

The morning is a dancer,
pirouetting to a new tune
now all I can offer
white lies, half truths and madness ,
substantial as the dawn mist
heartless as these tower blocks.

As we live this ashen sunrise,
last night`s desperate burning and
who I was lie dead and bleeding
in another new beginning.
Ad infinitum.