Beaded birds strung on telephone wires
in the eyeshadow blue sky
covered by clouds traced with liquid gold liner
that flashes in shop windows
and sparks off the glass of the city.
God is a poet, an artist, a dreamer
who sketches out the concrete and metal
with old ink pens
and washes over it all in watercolors.
The neon colors and cigarette smoke and white strung lights
draped over the trees at night
that reach their roots down under the pavement
into the dark earth
to drink in the mysteries underground.
I breathe it in,
the tangle and choke of city streets
filled with people all looking for eternity in the moment
and the moonlight glinting off bare shoulders.
I see God grin in the reflection of an empty bottle,
standing drunkenly in the hazy lights like faraway stars,
just the two of us in a quiet pocket of the universe
where the noise fades to a steady patter of rain and footsteps.
It's three a.m.
and I wonder if we'll ever meet again
Ariana Hoelscher is an undergrad at the University of Texas. She lives in Austin with a small army of succulents. Her hobbies include homebrewing, learning Russian, and giving unwanted antique books a loving home.