Advice to City Poets

Love your city skyline,
its tallest buildings, shortest.
Make these your holy places,
more spiritual than forests,
vaster than the choppy blue sea,
truer than any church cross.
Learn to love how we build
beards on the face of the earth,
stubble made from rubble.
Love also, inside these obelisks,
those who wander and speak,
fight wars you’ll never know,
love, hate each other.
Quitters, the ones who hang on.
All you may see are dark windows,
but know every window is a word.
Love there are these mysteries
awaiting revelation,
if you stand on any city corner
and close prayerful eyes,
you’ll hear the buildings,
stone, glass, metal, wood
whispering to the traffic.
Let their stories be your art.
Every building you see,
even yours, has at least one.