Liquid glass shatters on the sidewalk from the angry skyScattering all the pedestrians like antsThey hurry home to the comfortOf their TV dinners and their television setsWhile I walk the streets—A garbage bag as my raincoat, my heart light

I find Picasso in a puddleAnd stories in the skyOrpheus is playing his lyre tonightWhile gentle Chiron nurses his woundThe sky is my storybookAnd as I settle myself under a peeling park benchI see only beauty