Poems from a public place


I saw you in the marketplace,

that wrinkly old woman

clutching a babe as the newborn

seized an orange slice in its

tiny right hand.


Why is it that when we are together, love,

I can embrace the beauty in the aches in my legs.

How come mountains, again, are scalable and

these old spindly wheels feel like wings. . .


Smelly, begging on the

corner for change until

they bring him: 2 cans of soup,

1 flannel and 4 pairs socks. Oh,

and a tract.


But I know the Spirit lives within him.


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