After a one-legged attempt on the bus,
I am muse for all sorts, you tell me,
“A moving canvas, beautifully animated portrait,”
In Monday morning bad luck.
Who knows where Jupiter went
Or why he choose to leave us this down and out
But you have my smile and my back.
And much more than embarrassment, I feel indebted
To your shy, biblical glory, sweetly hooded and in route
To Shelby Street. It is dusky in this dawn as we cross the river,
No on there to accept our fare - the trolls let us pass
Because no one wants to trouble with the east side of things
Whether it be St. Louis, Atlanta, or Nashville.
Still we quiet women ride in April a.m. spurts and gasps,
Loud brakes when we pull the chain, exit the sliding doors,
Moving glass the only thing separating us from the day.
I give you Proverbs for your journey, words from Mark
Because he seems kinder than Paul, and for later,
I wish you whispered Song of Solomon
For whomever shares your night.