Intersection JohnWalker Lyon
Two in the morning
An old man wanders the Promised Land
Past temples of Sears and pillars of Adam
Across concrete plains under amber-streetlights

His eyes are creased like a map
From years of walking in circles
His voice rasps with end-all testimony
Drowned out by passing cars

He preaches to a choir of one
A squirrel on the street
The purest of followers,
upturned in a sewer drain

Somewhere in the man’s mind
was the answer to all of this
A spark and a savior,
stamped out in the noon of his life

For now the elder follows the highway
Aged into the asphalt
Begging for salvation
in the empty night