On a Bus to Jerusalem



I see the boys in long black coats through the window,
Swinging like bats come in for landing across slides and monkey bars,
Spots of darkness in the summer heat,
Still children.

People walk looking at their feet,
Preoccupied with God.
I am troubled for a moment because I find no special holiness when piousness denies a smile.
I want want to open the bus window and shout,
“God is there in your eyes. Lift them up. Meet another’s. Share the holiness!”

The glass is solid. The window does not open.
Maybe I am blind, and He is there in quiet ritual.
Then I see a man riding a bicycle
All in black, broad brim hat,
Between his beard and his hat there is such a smile.

I say Aha!
There He is.
And He also makes a home on my lips and in my eyes,
As the bus continues on to Jerusalem.