He walks in between the raindrops when I first

see Him, beneath a dark, wet and quiet

overpass, trains shaking the bridge

above our heads

the air is suffused in placid wind

time simply

stops

He smiles with only His eyes

halting this ugly juxtaposition between

instantaneous death and indifferent life

There is dying

there is

living;

there is a

realm between

both.

He hovers above penetrating and immobilizing

beauty -

the flower petals

from cherry blossom trees

riot against the sky,

dancing in the wet air

and the wet asphalt -

and caustically excessive

violence,

Tells me to close my eyes and

listen

I hear the voice that has

tethered me to

this earth

“In truth, she is a liar,” He tells them. “In truth,

she walks at twilight with me, and she tells me

what really happened.”