Exodus
At the intersection I could be Moses:
striking the walk button twice,
extending my umbrella,
a rod parting the flow of vehicles,
red sea of traffic lights.
Ahead of me the far shore
of the promised curb waits,
rain dancing like Miriam off the pavement.
More and more it's the small passages
slogged each day that carry me,
dried mud freeing itself
from the chariots of our shoes.
Pharaohs change...
different blights, different reasons.
Crosswalks everywhere trudge on the same,
living light to light.
