One Moment Of God

ONE MOMENT OF GOD

As the sun rises, the fresh, crisp

streets are serenely empty,

asphalt of dew-soaked grass,

litter neatly packed and

grouped along the gutters

like small patches of flowers.

The air is alive with the bright blue of the sky.

The morning has a certain aura to it –

like the opening riffs of a

Paul Desmond melody

or a Robert Breer animation.

I stand on the corner,

waiting for the first bus,

my hands warm and cozy in coat pockets,

and look down toward Century City –

the tangerine and cherry-blossom streaks of the horizon

reflected in tall towers of glass.

The day has not yet donned its grit,

and the hours lie open as a blank slate

upon which anything

(acts of history, moments of clarity,

the wreckage of love, the elegance of defeat)

could be written.

Yet, standing here alone,

a smile sneaking steadfast upon me,

the pieces neatly aligned,

I know one moment of grace

one moment of God.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009