The poet stands as a prophet
in this wasteland of prosaic utility
and business acumen.
The poet wanders as the voice of Wisdom
through streets yet
busy and occupied.
The poet ascends to the pulpit
in the church of management
and efficiently to the sky.
The poet dons the surgical mask
and attends with words more penetrating
than the precision of a scalpel.
The poet sees and speaks
of richness and wonder
still here. The mystery of
my child’s smile. The wonder of a creeping
shadow. The beauty of
a calloused hand. The
grace corralled in coffee cups.