Like a mischievous hand the breeze this morning
lifted the cover of your book,

a signal. Sometimes my fate
stands at an intersection

wearing smart white gloves.
Hands like white birds

flutter among the traffic
stopping wagons and diesels,

so that strings of little children
may cross. If I manage to get

to the corner in time,
I go with them.

Writing & Art online at
http://www.rosemarystarace.com/