Dear anyone who will listen, cried the gypsy singer on the platform, this poem's for you he said, his long hair damp with sweat dripping down to his kinky boots.
You have enough todays to make a life,
you won't be snuffed out before you reach
the tomorrow you're always putting off.
You have enough todays to love someone,
to make something beautiful—
even if it's just one thing, even just one person.
Dear anyone who can hear, sang the snaggle-toothed woman by Penn Station,
I don't want your money, just your smiles.
Don't keep walking if you don't know where you're going.
For the one small set of ears who hears me,
the organ plays,
outlining the golden light of grace,
the magic you've always longed to be real,
and there it is, lining the walls of the cathedral with the God you take for granted.