This Day
Coffee shops bloom into aroma -
spew on the sidewalk.
This day Lord, if you care,
thunder your birdsong.
On the corner
of an intersection there are moving parts,
strangers weave around each other
collide silently and curse,
birth generations of small grudges.
This Day let songs thunder sweetly,
in the mockingbird's throat,
thunder in the flop house,
and the mansion,
thunder for both derelict,
and diligent,
give us this, our daily roar,
make bright flags of our faces.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2024
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