3 a.m.

The single floodlight

Blinking away the falling snow

Stands guard over

The intersection

The coffee shop

The church

The grocery

Poke their heads out

Of the shadows

To listen

There are no arguments

At the cafe tables

No gossip

Under the bus stop sign

The tracks left by

Urgent appointments

Are covered now

Anger is spent

Worry is locked away

For a little while

All is holy

Pursuit

You try the switch

In the stifling dark hall

Nothing

The audience leans

Forward

The only soundtrack

Is your heartbeat

Your hands

Like scouts

Move along the wall

Feeling the shape of a door

The audience holds its breath

A woman whispers

“Don't go in there.”

The young men

Want to see you

Skewered

The old brass knob

Is cold

You are either very courageous

Or a fool

On this side

You'll never know which

Laughter

Like a jazz performer

I improvise something

Absurd

Teasing

The silly notes

You respond sweet

Flute-like

You like to be played

So I play you

And I am rewarded

With music

From the 8th Floor Window

Late December has a pulse

A rhythm

A flow

Currents of Ugg boots, pea coats

Burberry scarves

Taxi cabs

Stop. Wait. Pull out. Wait.

Go

Each one

A world

Searching for an orbit

Going different places

Together

Psalm

Praise Him, stuttering laughter

Rapping on heaven's window

O praise Him, whisper of bare feet

Dancing down the carpeted hall

Exalt Him with arms extended

Greeting, embracing, lifting, guiding

Give Him glory with ears that hear music

And eyes that see goodness

Life is praise

Praise is life