He climbs the lattice where the paint peels thin
Copper cable humming beneath his boots
The city exhales steam from grates within
He breathes in rhythm with the telegraph lines
Iron ribs cradle him in rusted grace
Summer dusk paints gold on bolted flanges
He sings the scales his grandmother once traced
Alto timbre rising through the grates
Tar paper roofing blisters in the heat
His tool belt hangs from a corroded rung
Pigeons scatter when the fiddle's sweet
Bow draws slow across the city's lung
Iron ribs cradle him in rusted grace
Summer dusk paints gold on bolted flanges
He sings the scales his grandmother once traced
Alto timbre rising through the grates
Sweat traces chalk lines on his weathered palms
Harpsichord arpeggios drift from below
A wooden flute answers through the calms
He knows each interval the wind can blow
Iron ribs cradle him in rusted grace
Summer dusk paints gold on bolted flanges
He sings the scales his grandmother once traced
Alto timbre rising through the grates
Streetlamps flicker on one by one
Cello drones where the mortar crumbles deep
His voice a psalm the evening has spun
The wire holds what the world cannot keep
Iron ribs cradle him in rusted grace
Summer dusk paints gold on bolted flanges
He sings the scales his grandmother once traced
Alto timbre rising through the grates
The choir returns in steel and wire
Harmonics bloom like embers in the fire
Final note lingers on the cooling iron
Dusk settles soft on the high wire
