A bird races across an infant sky above
the man who waits for miracles.
By the river, he speaks to the trees,
hears whispers as they sway in the wind.
“Away from me weariness, dark specter of misery!
Today at long last, the world becomes mine."
Across the waters, sunlight creeps slowly,
and he sees visions dancing before him.
Heaven awaits even the breath of a prayer
from this fallen prince of wish and dream.
“I have come to claim a gift from Providence,
for I have wandered long in search of such grace."
An oak rattles its branches, a grackle cries out,
the man listens for the sound of angel wings.
Standing alone in the virgin morning, he waits.
The trees grow still, and the birds flutter away.
Sunlight dims upon the waters.
“So be it. This will not be a day of blessing.
I have heard the thundering silence of heaven.
Perhaps tomorrow the trees will have more to say."
The man is content, his heart filled with anticipation.
He returns to the concrete wilderness to dreams his dreams,
beneath the great shadows of skyscraper giants.
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