There lives in the everyday On a Wednesday late morning sidewalk Of grimy city and in the small town In the overcast of pregnant skies
Just plain folks Blind enough of their own ego To wear an immunity of self like a concrete saint
You see them in timeless pause And watch in awe and ache As blue and grey birds With eyes as cloudy as your skies Rest peacefully on their fingertips Nurturing fat bellies with morsels of a sacred stillness