Exodus

At the intersection I could be Moses:

striking the walk button twice,

extending my umbrella,

a rod parting the flow of vehicles,

red sea of traffic lights.

Ahead of me the far shore

of the promised curb waits,

rain dancing like Miriam off the pavement.

More and more it's the small passages

slogged each day that carry me,

dried mud freeing itself

from the chariots of our shoes.

Pharaohs change...

different blights, different reasons.

Crosswalks everywhere trudge on the same,

living light to light.

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