Lances that sparkle in the sunlight

like some magnificent chivalrous

act,

and lost dogs in the neighborhood

bored—full of purpose, as a horse walks down the sidewalk.

Trumpets sound

in the mind of a government employee

hounded by timelines

and paperwork.

He gets into a carpool

and doesn’t get wet,

even though, he is drowning

in conversation.

The city passes him by

and the grey sky

does not welcome him.

400-year-old classical music plays on the radio

and his armor is turned on.

People see him, but they don’t see him.

There is too much reflected light

When he passes on to a new place, they say, only what they see

“He did paperwork.”

Neighborhoods, cities, offices

steal something from his soul

He will give away the blackened parts

and eat the red meat.