Metal chiming the wind into audible note.
Watching community in a pack of wild dogs.
Grass giving surrender to winter's death.
And a poem for the day.
For I Dwell With You As An Alien
Meandering street souls reminding us of the stitch before time.
Their eyes, portals to the Denominator's door they take us.
The Grand Artist whittled down right there in the bottomlessness of their gaze.
Beautiful, weathered feet dusting off the sediment of Earth's fall.
Steps that patter out eternal thanks,
Causing one to hunger for the dinner bell of time.
He gracefully prepares us for the underpinning of this Holy Day.
Homeless, but rarely it is a stranger they meet.
Aliens in this land of the dying.
Sojourners, pioneers, billboards of a place with no time and space.
Making nest prematurely (or no) in that sweet land of by and by.
To them, the greatest of the messengers, I give thanks.