Birds practice their plaintive twitching for crumbs and scatter
like dive bombers
as I toss pinhead size morsels of my breakfast burrito shell
just beyond the perimeter.

More and more, the city market morning feels
like the calm before an indefinite storm.
My day is divided into specific slots. Even
under the glaring sun of the deepening morning, I still
have a breeze of hope that I can recalibrate those slots
so they’re fused into one unfettered day.

I close my eyes to absorb the smell of the smoke from
the coffee being roasted next door, and the myriad sounds of the market itself
–  the vendors, the streetcar bell, and the birds chirping as they swoop
and echo under the stalls – and gather myself for the commute.