gold folds in the East the
birds glide through
and white rolls West
in pastel-blue
background
and
peeping from
a dusky cloud the
eye of the sun
opening wide
bright areole
brighter yet the
first rays
across dark roof tops
dark streets
a golden promise of
some kind–
a brighter day–
a new Jerusalem on the horizon:
we cannot get there
because
too far away
but
hell,
let’s start walking
anyway,
shall we?