via hernandez st. in the second cool weather day of the year fourth day of fall all the talk of war, of attacks, of vengeance and victims, of hate and retaliation. and god bless america. and america bless god. and my dog has fleas. and god so loved the world. and gave us light. september 25 thich nhat hanh has a full page ad in the new york times offering sympathy and kindness. encouraging peace and the transformation of anger into something good. and liberating. holding his face in his hands, to keep his "loneliness warm" "two hands protecting, two hands nourishing, two hands preventing my sould from leaving me in anger." encouraging nonviolence. encouraging compassion and forgiveness. and forgiveness. forgiveness. forgiveness. "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." morning walk, dog on a leash, in the place of trees. neighborhood village accented by trash piles. the trash piles are random. vehicles to a language. the trash piles are random. languages to vehicles. vehicles remote though strong, to languages clear and awake, of morning of earth as it are in heaven. you say who, the women jog to be more themselves, the powerlines are bird wires. passing human voices. back and forth in continual instances of fiber-optic waves and vibratory sound. patterns aligned and aloof and hallowed it be the names. thy kingdom come, i alight you. we align you, seem to say the school buses in their yellowness, to our yellownesses, to our yellow strong-hold in the metal groans. thy will be done as the children near grown themselves. middle-aged teen-agers experiencing their minds as the cycles gain in intensity. experiencing the uncertainty the unsteadiness of the time-warp-like function of gravity. called puberty, a la physics. the intense and slamming nature of leaving childhood. evolving, moving on, numerous windows old and new. opening and shutting. bending breaking shattering. falling with weight in wayward ways. what once was known is known no more in this middle ground. time of unwavering crying game. time shows its softness. and its teeth. all at once. appearing and disappearing. god bless america. america bless god. my dog has fleas. my nation on its knees. my world in pain. a world away via hernandez st. via the minds eye minus the tv. god bless america and everything it could be. god bless the world and its threadlike synchronicity. god bless the wayward and the wily, the weirdoes and the hungry. break bread on our heads that we may be wise. its all gone invisible now. only wet strands of the grass grew in my minds eye what my heart knew, and thought too, or what was thought to say. how they sprout in the fall, within the pain and the friction. the light filters in. finds its way, catches itself, glistens, opens in split-second waves of you who are i. who are we. then wanes, fades, passes. but ripples in and of itself. like the scattering of seeds, arriving at the shore. where remains possible the quiet hum of a soft notion, perhaps as a dream remembered, a feeling of leaning out, reaching in, a longing that lingers.