Morning eye

The morning eye is almost empty,
forget about the day before,
just go out fresh and take the city in
before it fills again.
The streetlights amber on until the sun
cajoles their clocks to sleep
and switches the reflections on the river
to the distant, hazy orange of a dawn.

The images begin to gather,
the emptiness begins to take,
mysterious without the human forms
that soften and obscure.
Un-peopled platforms beckon on the eye
to sow their symmetry
and stillness in the quiet of a picture
to reflect against the thunder of a day.

The people start to break the silence,
emerging from the city frames,
the eye's still bright to take the first few in
before it starts again.
The images mature into the light,
the power stations burn
to know how each new sunrise still delivers
from the last remaining colours of a night.