So 'fraid

Hello, city.
I see that you've been tucked in for the night,
as your fog blanket covers all but the loftiest
of your head and shoulders.
I'm sorry that you're unable to sleep.
The brightness of your wide-open eyes is unmistakable
from my asphalt hillside.
I wouldn't worry though, it is quite beautiful.

You little city.
Your people are so strange.
They parade by in whirlwinds of night,
perceivable only by that errant footstep,
a timely echo, the mechanical clang of a bicycle.
If I turn my head for but a moment, they are gone--
the breeze left by their passing is all that betrays them.

Your breath is always so soft and cold,
and it smells of damp sidewalks and rainforest.
You act so sure, yet you're so afraid, so timid and meek.
You are grand in size and measure, but remote in nature.
And still, you are not a coward, your courage far outstands mine.
I am mute, and I cling to my small patch of pavement,
governing the sloping streets, the corner clubs
and fluid fluorescences that fill your byways.

Be still, city.
You are so 'fraid, so frayed and fearful.
Let your disciples see only your confidence.
Send your voice streaming down those alleyways in a guided rush.
Rustle the scarves and shirttails of the white-collared.
Spook the step-sitters and the would-be criminals.
Extend your hands of mist and collect all that belongs to you.

The city-dwellers do not control you, city.
Oh no, just as you sleep and wake and listen--
and as you smile, cringe, and sometimes exact vengeance,
these folks are your friends and enemies.
Ah yes, we are your symbionts.
Tread softly, city, and be not afraid.