This city

Taking the 6.40am down nineteenth
sped down the city
sun barely a rose
the world, an orange edge
houses facing the sun like first flowers
the air laced
with cold
my skin, prickled with the renewal of morning
squeezing this new life under my pores.
I kept the window open
feeling of morning as strong as at six
as I waited for sunrise cycling around and around the living room
past an ambulance's red and silver lights outside
an opened door
a darkened room
Perhaps someone died
I'll never know
speeding down nineteenth thinking of morning, and peace and life.
This city never gives
under that thin layer of morning fog
it is
oblivious
to the bums coming out of hiding from wild bushes.
The Golden Gate and the shrouded hills
looks on proudly, rising up over the gleaming bay
keeping its parts and people--
wrapped up in the silence and
this new light.
I wondered, about life, stories, and mystery
but this city never gives.