Portrait of a Town in the Morning

Dawn is rising. The whole earth lifts into this sky.
The magic of song splashes over the verandas.

The cherry trees, eternal bridges for squirrels and fields for bees.
The roofs, swaying wise drunkards, set out on the road.

Clothes flung over the washing lines drop hints to the naked bodies.
Smell of the first coffee. A dewy rainbow on a wide square.

Water is rising. And a whole mountain will come with it.
It will pour into the sea and look like an island.

It just rains. On the hide of a pack. On the roof of a taxi no one called.
On the faces of upturned heads and the crowns of passers-by.