by William Stegall
A white flash from the concrete shines
in the vacant parking lot.
A stream of stars glazes by,
traffic and lunch goers,
who rush to work?
While the trees try to bring life,
to the intersection.
People sacrifice everything to fulfill their dreams of hope,
property and independence.
What does homeless life dream, in such gleaming light?
Will the future be bright?
Or will the dead of night, lie hard against their furrows?
Day breaks in to my mind, where a lunch bag is possible for a homeless bum.
The future comes.
It’s the only predestined sight.
Wake up, my heart, so I will know which way-
rich or poor-
I will go, whether or not I will remain bright,
from this crossing.
Let the trees bring life, bird songs and squirrels tossing.
I will be rich not because I see what the future brings.
But because I was hewn to be true to the crossing of this place,
My fate at the gate, of paradise end, saved, saved, for an eternal rest.
No traffic now. Should I cross or wait?
Crossing here is no mistake.
Crossing now is all at ease,
My light goes dim but still I see.
One day at a time, at this crossing of mine.