This morning, on the pavement shining wet
from recent rain, I saw a message scrawled
in hopscotch chalk. It warned me: “Don’t forget.”
And winging overhead, a seagull called
“Remember.” Strange graffiti on the wall
of my perception; cryptic clues that best
my crossword-puzzle analytical
attempts; emerging words on palimpsest.

The morning traffic fills my neighborhood
with engine noise, the grinding clash of gears.
These chalk-talks from mysterious pamphleteers
aren’t always meant for us, I understood:
the sleeping world dreams of God, and writes
these notes on sidewalks in the rain-wet nights.

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