In the aftermath of goodness,
there is shouting throughout the streets
a crowd gathers near a clock-tower of a radical
difference in time,
and you spot a light
of indecent exposure
in a gated window where
promise lives; it is morning in a marketplace
of the dove flying past descent
hell bent on a crumb
of bread among the
ripened and the celebrated hate
bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011
Posted for One Stop Poetry - Celebrating Leonard Cohen
