Jesus stands in the midst of rush hour,
baptized by rain, holding his sign,
dumpster-diving our line,
eyes for hands
our cars, his cans...
discovering, collecting and examining.
We pray his timing is off,
that our eyes won't meet,
too sure we're moving together,
arrogant about forever...
He takes stock of our shelves,
granting us the chance to see ourselves.
Giving us back something empty,
light enough to soar;
the rain continues to pour.
Our dragon scales no real armor;
for the one,
smiling with his sign,
clocking our time.