Spiritual

See the sober man in
rows of concrete blocks.
He emerges from slumber,
moving between buildings.

He loves the familiar
paths he walks along.
His rituals soothe and
dumb down the explicit.

Heavy rain fell for hours
the autumn night before.
Now he stands here watching
the morning steam rise.

It ebbs from the moss
which, like green suede,
coats the bark of a tree.
The white mist mesmerizes.

The sober man takes it in.
An elderly man drags on by,
but he doesn’t seem to notice
the magic taking place.

The sun heats the moss.
It appears to be smoking.
Gazing at the bright sight,
I thank God for this beauty.

Sober Man