and so i suppose we are.
living here amidst the lights and the traffic and the busy buzzing bumbles.
the quiet rage.
i want to reach out through my windows and touch the walkers.
people huddled over their bags at the bus stop.
an old man with no cane on the sidewalk leaning east.
inside the heart of every person
is a riotous knowing.
a belonging to something unspeakably grand
i do not look far for god -
brooding in gray eyes on sun-beaten faces
or hurried whistles chasing a bus