You Come Too

You Come Too

I’m working my magic outside this downtrodden hotel
Signaling to the good strangers of Tallinn

Who’ll know me by my upright faith
And my blind man’s stick—snow now

In everyone’s hair; songs on lips;
Tattered Christ in the telephone wires;

Stepping out as they say
Inviolable, tight, alive

In the cold, and though I can’t see it
Lights come on

In the fairy tale shops
And independent of religion

Or science, who do I think
Can follow along?

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

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