Dawn lifts. I travel East
and frost reflects an early blue.
So much here and very little;
locomotive, pen and paper.
Across, teenagers fratch among themselves:
please don’t enter consciousness!
If so, I hope it’s him;
the one who dances wearing baggy trousers;
a boy who sings ‘Look down.
Look down. Don’t look ‘em in the eye’
and looks you in the eye.
The opening song to a great performance.