On the El’

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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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