After so long waiting

Wild hope

quietly emerges from the crowd

Some unnamed Jewish festival in Jerusalem 

Near the Sheep Gate, of course

Where we  

Lame, blind, and patently foolish

Lie prone, waiting for angels

Angels and the ghosts of gods 

Occasionally 

stir the waters

Every plural word written of 

our collective loss

Reruns the ambiguity between 

Our healing and our disgrace

Clouds in our eyes

We fail to

Drink such strong medicine

Poured out

For us