Andalucia Dawn 

smell burnt bread

it tickles sleepy nose

when the window lamps

are low

and blinds are still blind

in the dark


for first cock’s crow

for first morning light

bats still reign

when mortals lightly tread

on empty roads

filled with night’s restless dreams

city hung over

from previous eve’s palaver

fitfully stirring

in muted moans

of slumber

smell burnt bread

that tickle sleeping noses

bakers never sleep

flour they knead

in grey dawn sights

until Andalucia wakes

to golden liquid light


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