jon rogers’ at dawn

September 30, 2009

There is a park
In the lung of the city
That breathes in cadence to
Time and money and time.

Its lawn is green,
Like a two-sword breadth of
Green carpet trod upon
In the name of Pomp and Substance.

Every day, nearly every hour,
The homeless rub shoulders
With new neighbours.
Every day, Atlantis
Silices away a bit more fat
and calls it “renewal.”

But we three kings
Caspar, Melchior, Balthazar,
Cross that threshold for
A pristine hour.
We move together though we’ve moved apart
To rule this parcel wisely, justly,

I do not step into this park alone.


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