I’ve seen this sky before.
The plum hue, the tessellating clouds
that carry on, donning an air
crisp to the horizon.

We were all cold that morning.
Heavy jackets, doubled gloves,
(some had mittens), some wore scarves
(some didn’t).

No one speaks at 7 a.m.
amid the drawl of buses,
the commuters anthem,
submerged in fog and mist.

They are barbers, mechanics,
archaeologists,
fastened in thinking,
humble in their professions,

Yes, today could be the day
I change the world.