And malicious
Until I look again
And see the beauty
In the dilapidated
The strength
In the distressed
The resilience
In the rusted
Until I look again
And see the beauty
In the dilapidated
The strength
In the distressed
The resilience
In the rusted
I will wash away
The tears of my last failure
And gather myself up
To have another go
One from Earth
One from Sky
And here am I
Year over year
Setting down my characters
Setting down my letters
it said, in a staccato burst of bold white stencils the building’s entire length. Eight windows sheathed in brown plywood, each with a stencil, right in the center.
A stencil, and bills. A few, or a pattern of eight or more. Posters posted over the admonition, over the order, “POST NO BILLS”.
Come play with me!
Come play!
So I put my words away
My oh-so-many words
Take out my camera
And play with a sphere of letters
I will not count them: the prayer wheels, the meters, the pilgrims, the steps, the number of times I will feel the smooth patina of wood against my palm. I say to Emma: “I want to do this.” She assents.
Carrying their openness
And prejudice
With equal tenacity
Conscious only
Of their openness