Hiding Places

Measure time in passing

Streetcars, their clatter a sign

Of something looming.

The unadorned pillar—barely remembered,

Once revered—and the woman

Who seeks change and a prayer

And tells us, you’re sweet.

Find me tomorrow

On the corner of Royal and Canal,

She says, before you leave. Find me

Through the overgrown branches,

Through the pale green jalousies

Offset by peeling plaster—

These hiding places encase us

In life, the marble tombs

In the afterlife. One stood open,

Its emptiness inviting. Step into

This moss-grown space, damp

With the threat of a storm.

Lift your head from your pages

And watch rain embrace the rooftop

Opposite. Watch as it creates

A mirror for itself.