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