Back in Baltimore, a city of Godand stone men on stone horses,I wept in the rainon the steps of the halfway house.
Umbrellas and pity passed me byas water from heavenfell onto pop cans and whiskey bottlesthrown on the grass and sidewalk.
Stone arms folded on his chest.Wet lighton the gray face of Robert E. Lee.
Now at the ocean, the sun spreads whitebehind a scrim of cloudsand it drizzles from time to time.
It should be enough to only walkand feel on my hair and the back of my neckrain that falls blinkinginto this hour.
Sooner or later I will learn to be silentSheeted sunlight on black rock cliffs.The gleam of newly wet sand.
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Illustration: Vishnu Prasad