I find myself not up before the city
Is awake, but before it is open
A crow built like a black van
Pleads his case to no one, so large
He chooses his branches carefully
Across the street from the park, above the blue tarps
And the hovering umbrellas that cover
The more wet and less affluent Tokyo

Doors cause small confusions
But open to hot coffee and songs from my youth
Corporate America is a horror that brings comfort
To me some days, those touches and tastes
That bring grounding to a distant morning

I don