i am on old woman-child
finger tips racing along urban fences
i ponder poverty (my own), sun baked shoulders
an illusion of race, castles in the sand
and making rent… maybe
i walk alone, until you are beside me
we could wander a thousand acres in silence
or keep a joke in the air from Montrose to Howard
chug-chug-rattling north high above broken sidewalks
i have to know, and only when i read your face
can i see, who i could be
and something i cannot capture, for long
a hazy notion of God
Every thing, in a whisper-soft breeze along my cheek
as i cast a casual glance
at Mexican sugar cookies behind store-front glass
i see beyond goodbye, hear wind chimes
i am bells, barely, then clay, again
right foot, left behind
treading heavily upon the earth
veils over veils obscuring that flash
aging women can be patient, children hold hope like nothing else