My Siren

I saw you there.
In the early morning lamplight,
the whole world sleeps.

Your white feet bare on the rain-
splashed street, your dark hair
combed in a fingering wind.

The red of your skirt spread
to reflect you
in windows and puddles, the
morning-still fountain.

You spin a slow way down the still-dreaming street;
(the whole world dreams)
the whole world sleeps.

With your first low note
a pink edge creeps along the damp
cramped outlines of each crumbling building,
each night-soaked cobble stone.

Building your song, you gather the sunrise.
Clouds pale and blush.
The world waking up.

Orange roses bloom in puddles.
Your naked feet splash
and scatter the petals.
The world turns over
and stretches
and sighs.

The light grows; you sing.
The world opens her eyes
bringing the morning,
now gold halos everything.

The light grows; you sing.
The church bells are ringing.
Your song wakes the water,
the fountain bubbles over.

The light grows, you sing;
dimming the lamps.
So sweetly summoned the Sun
now comes forth.

The world wakes up.

Without you,
how could there be dawn?