I journey between factories and billboards and trees;
needles of light pierce the morning sky,
and in the east the vermilion city wakes.
Spanning the distance, birds fly in sequence,
sweeping sheets, kites, giant gulls across the horizon.
When I arrive I will be static, and spark at friction
from those who start their day unawares.
If I cannot have flight, O God, let me kneel;
we deny You with every passive grumble,
each scant refusal of Your song.