People on bicycles
Pass the dirt colored houses
Each with a half chosen image
And yes sometimes our eyes are bitter
When birds fly away
I know these things
I like the phrase up river
Though I don’t know why
If you can drag yourself to believe
God’s eyes are “on” this morning
Great things are coming
Water falls on my wrist
When I wash a cup
I listen to my heart
For the simple reason
That many say otherwise
I picture the bicyclists
Like Aztec hieroglyphs
With their portions of sun
Here at the bottom
Of the sky
Planet of the Blind 