People see my scar and say
But when I wake I listen
to make sure she’s breathing.
And in the clearest morning sky
the tiny silver plane appears
to be falling.
Many things burn to the ground.
In a frenzy of pedestrians
a woman sits with an outstretched hand.
Starlings flock to a dirty puddle.
A squirrel bolts through traffic.
Pigeons are aggravated, ground resigned.
Woman with a crew cut on the sidewalk
and her small red bucket.
I put in a few dollars; she says God bless you.
I want to tell her no –
I want nothing from God –
You, you bless me.
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