Ode to a Building at Six a.m.

Industrial carpet,
greets me,
in shades of every neutral tone.
Firm and unyielding,
a friend.

These plain white walls,
vaulted ceilings,
that contented hum
of the air control.

The far off vibrations
of brass
and bass
the alien spaceships
that glare

An empty place,
Full of me.

If I strain my ear,
Remembered noises reverberate.

High heels and bootclad feet,
Crowds that jostle for their seats
(in a dignified manner of course)

Curled hair, crisp shoes
The growing crescendo

Sweeping bows,
the bright blood of flowers
on the ground.

I lay embracing,
Industrial carpet
and remembering.