These aren’t empty streets!

So we walk like karate masters in K-Town,

blackness upon blackness like sleeping deep within Everglades.

Wing-folded Seraphim smile hiding God’s existence

saying, “Here, read books by caged birds who sing.”

We expect avalanches to fall or lakes to flood us soon

even green rivers raised to cut us through.

But this miracle exists like sun-

shining on corners are lamps

viewed as brilliant stars by heaven,

within them oil from Maples rooted in time;

Winds can never blow out their light

moving like pendulum daring us to approach

only if we wish to be consumed.

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