a gusty north wind races down
the littered lanes of this concrete jungle
we call home I turn my collar to cover
my ears wish fulfillment brings no warmth

I hear her singing against the gale
her tooth-riddled mouth opened wide
as she hits the high notes she wraps
her ragged shawl around her neck

memories of a glacial chill shivers
my bones I turn for shelter but find
only brick alleyways marred with paint
my anxiety inflames my blood pressure

the old woman shuffles my way her shoes
taped to her toes a 16th-century barefoot mystic
is she lost in divine love does she contemplate
the soul's ascent can she levitate to the stars

I daydream of her castle its moat full of frogs
she is St. Teresa of the Avenues and rules no one
do I approach her offer her aid genuflect to her cross
rain pelts my poncho as she sings the aria of the lost