She sketched him in the froth of her coffee, Hoping he would never leave. She could not turn off the siren Or the storm that leapt Inside her cup. She saw soldiers Chasing him down the track, Ordering him to surrender. The shackles howled; There was no turning back.
O gladsome light, O grace
Of God the Father's face,
The eternal splendour wearing;
Celestial, holy, blest,
Our Saviour Jesus Christ,
Joyful in thine appearing.
They did not recognize me in the shadows
That suck away my color in this Passport
And to them my wound was an exhibit
For a tourist Who loves to collect photographs