And heavens parted,
just as Moses did.
Or rather the opposite.
Skies instead of sea,
wet instead of the dry,
and not lofted men, but me.
And rather than sea bed
a concrete maze of city streets
upon which the grey skies weep.
Jacket with hood
which I refuse to use.
Glasses bead up; angelic sweat
Natural pitter-patter on leaves,
unnatural splatter-splatter from gutters onto streets,
a golden mean as it lands on me.
Gather strange looks from those in cars,
to be kept in my pocket (now wet),
as reminder what not to be.
Stray dog approaches; it drips too
I am not fearful,
for it understands
as I do.
Another Alaska poem