It’s a cold October day the temperatures finally cascade into the mid-forties. At 7:25 am in my view the brown leaves scatter along the pavement and the cold wind has found a gentle resting place on our faces. Maybe my place of residence spills deeply in absence of satisfaction. The cumbering roads and missing lights. Street corners and bodegas are quiet for now.
Yet there is a taste for hope. It would be soft and wise to feel hope once more. Surely Hope is salt in the wounds, where we the wicked have crippled ourselves. Surely Hope would bleed the towers of darkness. Surely hope to shelter the pain in our lives that fall like flesh. And hope sharp as a knife. Cooling safe passage, surely hope will strengthen us.