He must have been God’s Uncle.
There could be no other explanation.
Shaking his bent hand in anger
At the New York sidewalk, a forlorn
Shadow of what remained. Alone, in
A barren landscape of moving objects
He seemed a like a mystic shrouded
In a halo without his crown,
Descending somewhere from the ancient
Temples of Jerusalem still hoping to reach
An accommodation with his nephew.
Copyright © Steve Zak | Year Posted 2018
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