Classic Poem

(for Michael Axtell)

There is a glimmer of the world to come in the ease
of the eyes of the homeless woman decked out in rags,
and there's a hint of glory in the castaway leaves
lying low in the gutters amid smouldering fags.

For I've seen Christs climb out of the flames of icicles
clinging to the rusty pipes where the forsaken dwell,
and I've seen the saved herded in suits before steeples
delighting in daybreaks indistinguishable from hell.

1998