It's Always Strange to Sleep in Cities Poem by Kapka Kassabova

It's always strange to sleep in cities
you haven't seen in daylight.
You could be anywhere, anyone
could breathe next door while
under used blankets you dream
of waking to the world's highest spires,
fastest clouds, brightest snow.

You dream of drunken rooftops
strewn with shards of broken stars
and you dream of the people you loved
a long time ago, when you still could.
And suddenly, they're down in the streets,
in this city of shadows and light.
It seems they've always been here.

And you tell them without words
because words are not
in the nature of this dream
how much has happened since.
How strange you find it to be here,
neither in the future, nor the past.

They thank you for your visit,
everything is fine, they say,
their mouths opening without a voice,
their manner growing distant and suspicious,
everything is fine. Then dawn
breaks over the city, and they are gone.