Face daybreak, clear-eyed.
Rise to the toothpaste-stained
bathroom mirror.
Out the window, a clearer
view of downtown in fog --
wilderness of glass.
This is someone else's place.
You met at the Crow Bar
night before last:
two dates. It might be love.
For once, on the window sill,
not pigeons, but a dove
struts back and forth.
So you were born up North,
then descended, angel from above...
A dot-com job,
a Tenderloin box,
a new heart you've lost.
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