the bus station is empty
except for a homeless bag lady,
a mother and her child.

the janitor sweeps yesterday's dreams
from the worn floor.

the mother moves to a corner.
her son a shadow always at her side.
sad eyes needs someplace to go.

the bag lady moves to the corner.
she says something to the woman and her son.
I can not hear but
the mother smiles and the boy laughs
and they appear happy
long after the bag lady
has gone to talk to the lonely janitor.

she touches his shoulder.
he turns, nods and smiles.
and she is Jesus
creating small miracles
and harming no one.

in the shush of the brooms sweep,
the sun rises.
the birds are singing.
she moves into the flow of her heaven

thunder with my eyes
beauty in her radiance heard
lost dark and  light
sweet and salty been
near
the moistness of many tears
called upon the deities
cried out for forgiveness
sinned as a devil fork tongued
been the forgiver
been forgiven

saw the Valley and the hill
the long track of life
the many steps taken the many steps lost
been saved and saviour
both good  bad and between
been an artist and a creator
a lost soul

among the many things the vales and
pinnacles I have roamed like a sheep
and I seek a shepherd or a light
or something that makes more sense
to me

but in case
in the case life is but a jest
a game I see
I played all sides of it
may that make me
less guilty
less me

in the end