“Eastward I stand, for mercies I ask,”
I could walk away, from all of it.
Here now on this any morning Monday.
Sun hot and high, car horns litter brake dust,
Traffic sludging down blacktopped
Boulevards. I could be, too.
Loud ambulances loom,
Blaring toward some event.
But they are
Not here for me,
© SXT 2023