Bright sheets drying on a balcony form
the tricolour of an unknown country.
Three more belly out in the breeze,
flailing cartoon ghost limbs.
Bird species gather in the foliage
and light patches on a plaster façade
track how far into day we’ve come.
Reflected planes loom across windows.
Each broadcast song-burst is another life
returning from sleep, taking hold
as loves and allegiances restore
and shutters rattle up on the breakfast stall.
The city returns to itself in the hum
of tram wires, the smell of fresh banitsa.