Over the bridge hold flecks of light,
Connected to ground and grass,
Buildings with flashing bulbs,
A plane flies overhead,
Leaving whirling dust in its wake.
A dead cabbie sings in my ear,
“The embers float on the ground…”
A rotting tree,
Stretches its creaking limbs into the night,
And I look for the Cheshire Cat.
Surely he waits for me there.
At the corner I hold onto the pole,
And look up.
This man-made thing.
This God-made being.
Are the mice asleep in their stoplight?
Elders dine on French cuisine,
And a BMW drives slowly, shakily by.
Who is the man inside?
The temple is being rebuilt,
And this morning I’m asked for patience.
Like the farmer who waits for precious fruit,
I wait for healing.
And I repent,
That refreshment may come.
My balcony is warm,
Candles flicker brightly.
Lanterns shine overhead,
And the bougainvillea clings to the white embers,
And the night falls into the sky.