At the break of this tenth day of September New York is still quiet in the morning hush.
Held captive by sunrise's gleam of amber, Soon reborn in the bustle of a new day's rush.
The stock markets flash out deception and hope, Posting harsh and fleeting numbers on their displays.
Fashionistas walk as if they're on a tightrope, Modelling the hottest looks on the runway.
Glass skyscrapers reaching ever higher Reflect shards of a new day's sunlight Glowing colours like citrus or wildfire Dazzle pedestrian eyes sleepy with night.
Designers with their ears to the ground Tune into the word on the street.
People talking and rushing around, A Babel of accents when people meet.
Everything moves at its own rhythm and speed, Carefree, quick steps in an improvised dance Of capricious whims which novelty feeds, Plans made on the fly, and things happening by chance.
We live in the present, focus on today, Answering as soon as opportunity knocks.
We barely notice time slipping away, And ignore the ticking of the racing clock.