it is the waving wishes
of the dandelions.
impertinent weeds hawking
fistfuls of weightless hope next to the boarded-up buildings.
it is the orange sun,
debutant black fingerbranches silhouetted
and the single orange stoplight
like a cut-out punched through the wrought iron
a perfect swatch-match, color-wise,
signal and sky.
it is the fact
that each of us is the nation of Israel
and we are led through rivers
and butchered calves and Sodom and
Manna (damn that chewy white stuff)
to break us and rebuild us into
a risen people
a city like transparent glass
and clear as crystal.
