At the Gate
A photographer crossed the street,
I saw him just now.
He was staring through his lens
and a truck ran him over.
It was cold outside, and grey across the sky,
Rain had left a sheen that dulled
The lights around him and I smelled wet dog. I waited on
The other side for the light to change.
Wind bit at my cheeks, and I thought of
The Day After Tomorrow, resolving to turn up
The heater when I got home, this was
A day for nothing.
So what did he see, while not looking?
He stood there in the middle of the crosswalk,
(And I don’t think it was suicide)
He stood there
staring through his lens,
At the lights in the grey fog
(It was so grey; even the red didn’t show afterwards).
It happened just on the street corner,
You can still see the stain…oh,
It looks like the rain started up,
Anyway…
I went and stood there after, thinking to look for
What he’d seen, and I saw a patch of light,
Only for a second.
It shone off the street and bounced off a tree,
Pitter-patter, was all around me, and I saw diamonds
Falling off the leaves,
With heaven’s light shining off the stems.
Rain crawled into my eyes, I pushed it down.
And then it hit me in the back of my head.
I have known no more.
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