I woke up early when the world was grey
to sit with you by the two-laned highway.
The clouds sat sleepy, hanging low and still,
hiding the silent city by the hill.

The smell of earth, of coffee, and the rain
welcomed the sun above the foggy plain.
Though bashful — first just one pinprick of pink —
it pierced straight through the heavy armor’s chink.

Pastels like Easter eggs soon filled the sky.
For just one second, you and I locked eyes.
I wish that second could have stretched for hours:
alone and happy on our own tall tower.

A gunshot shattered the holy silence.
The city’s up. Before breakfast, violence.
Above the sleepy clouds, sat you and I.
How does the pink sun shine while people die?