The pavement reaches up,
draws us step by step into the light
that scans us like a copier,
rolls us to our station in the tray,
though we fancy our own cadence,
credo for the mystery that takes us
all to mountaintops,
the questions of the sea.
And while we're searching for a savior,
someone to retrieve our tired soul,
we walk on blindly past redeemers
every day,
saints who tend the garden,
where disciples fall asleep,
and write about the Golgotha within,
the Via Dolorosa we all walk.
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