Morning traffic murmurs like an ocean

Behind the closed doors,

of my daughter’s eleven floor

 home, the morning traffic

 Murmurs like an ocean.

From her balcony,

with my warm coffee

and a fresh bun,

the squeal of horns

 tears the constant hum,

 as if a ship is calling

 out from the fog.

Rising, and falling,

 the waves of cars

move between the lights,

red and green, and red.

Vessels watching for buoys

 in the rough seas.

And I, from above

watching the unfolding tapestry,

listening to the town harmony,

yielding for the ocean calm.