Venus was
rising
when I saw a
young man running
on the
Central track.
As I
approached, I saw he had as many years
as I do.
He admitted
the craziness
of staying
young forever,
but he was
looking at Venus when he said it,
and we talked of the dying crescent moon,
still
holding on at several billion.
I headed for
the river,
at a walk,
I’m feeling
my years,
and that I’m
just getting started,
Venus still
rising over my right shoulder.
As I approached
the Gazebo,
I saw a man
rise,
to a sitting
position.
It appeared
that he has my age,
but perhaps
he was as old as Jesus,
if he had
indeed been resurrected from the dead,
and had kept
himself in really good shape,
by running
every morning.
But he looked
around,
and seeing
no one who wanted his help,
he laid his
head down by his boots,
and Jesus
slept.
I stopped
for a swallow of water
at a
fountain on Mass,
then washed
my face
in a
sprinker popped-up
in a flower
bed.
I tested the
new bench
in the doorway
of Minsky’s Pizza.
The
acoustics were good.
Softly and
tenderly,
Jesus is
calling …
I still hear
my mother calling
and she’s
been gone
as far as I
know,
for some
time,
so while
forever might be crazy,
I don’t know
what the white-haired man
thought
after he heard,
ye who are
weary,
come home …
shortly
before he saw someone
my age
sitting on
the bench, tucked away,
echos still
bouncing off
the brown
brick walls.
I passed him
shortly thereafter,
farther up
the street,
he has a few
years on me.
Venus was
still rising,
but fading
into the brightening sky,
I don’t
understand what this all means,
but I’m
approaching the river -
I have faith
that the sun will be rising soon,
a
commonplace,
but no less
improbable
that I
should be here to see it.
As always
and nearly forever,
in the
limited perspective
I carry with
me,
the sky is
reflected in the river,
such a wreck
of a river,
the Kaw,
it’s so
filled with farmland,
I wouldn’t
be surprised to see
Jesus
walking on the water,
even at his
age.
I paused,
not to
quench my thirst,
at the
fountain by the levee,
but for a
taste.
And as I
recrossed the bridge
and headed
home,
the sun rose
again.
It’ll be a
hundred,
before long.
I saw the
guy who reminded me of Jesus
walking on the
other side of Mass Street;
he too had
risen again,
and was
wearing his yellow work boots,
walking on
concrete.
And then I
saw the young man,
my age,
peddling off
to work.
Softly and
tenderly
I opened the
back door;
the sinner’s
come home.
for David
