morning Conversation with God
by kate youngblood
dirty window
Looking out at America
speeding by the taxi rounds against beauty
I see them.
All.
Laced up boots
Ready
And then it’s right before my eyes!
Saint Patrick’s with its spires up to God.
Spilled forth, free
Forests of legs and shopping bags, fragrant florals of exhaust
The park’s my summit.
Heart’s stone found,
Shared.
columns
Climb, loud metal and dust
pulled in grid by grid, remnants in every shade
watching o’er masses enclosed upon light
I hear them.
All.
Broadway’s deep diagonal cut
Bleeding soul.
Music haunts me.
Faces fly across vision,
Jarring recognition
We are you.
We are all Yours.
I know them.
All.
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