Beatitude

i saw it outside myself.
on tippy toes,
it was there.
cupped in delicateness
that washed down my arms,
from the sky
i was reaching towards.

palms burning,
deep ravines.
massive brown paper bags,
leftovers--
from gluttony.

his hands-
empty.
his eyes shone-
behind hallowed
features,
of God.
Bryant Park,
Manhattan,
midnight.

fear,
didn't exist.
on that street,
where the Sun was shining.

at midnight.

Beatitude-
i was there.
with palms burning.