He walked up to me,
this man on the El’,
a stranger,
and said the Lord asked him to bless me.
His suit was gray,
and his tie was…
I don’t recall.
The essence of caramel tinged his skin,
and his eyes,
a feast of lime, maize, blueberry,
intensified as he spoke—
enticed by…
what?
A tired sigh,
empty stare?
I can’t remember being hungry.
I don’t believe in angels.
I do not worship gods.
But on that morning,
the scent of sweet, molten gold
rose from the quaking ground…
…and I tasted faith.
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