The wind weaves an arc of sound
around and above me,
leaf softly brushing against leaf.
I sit cross legged on the warm drive and
a rabbit hushes by
not three feet away,
oblivious to the shine of the neighbor’s porch light
on my white skin.
Another hurries across the lawn
into the sheltering darkness of the garden.
Small, chasing reminders of life
inside the roar of semis on the avenue,
the glint of street light on electric wires,
the flashing lights on barricades.
Have mercy on us Son of God,
small specks of life,
sitting on warm cement
in the cathedral darkness of Your nigh
By Sarah Perkins