The strange September sun departs A soft breeze cracks the wall of humidity Those on the way to work glide above the pavement Happy as if Second Avenue were transformed: Ah, a brick lane in an ancient city on the day Of the morning of a religious revival When the prophets and clowns come to town
Yes, we all deserve the best Isn’t that so?
Looking east: tiny clouds piled One on top of another Like stones on a trail elsewhere Shift your head and the frail blue sky is empty High and empty This is the void Nobody wants to die
We all deserve the best Isn’t that so?
If I were to follow the path of clouds Mind recollecting, backtracking then brazenly Galloping ahead, never releasing the thread Of what the sky has to offer Might I not catch a glimpse of promise Buried deep In weather dying:
Look at it another way Perhaps an image of a subsistence farmer Blissfully encountering A rare eatable fungus Beneath a rock In a patch of barren soil