For three we pass by in our inner-city.
The man with sleigh bells and teddy bears
tied to the top of his walking staff,
his striding dance and crimson coat
flare up over the dark-faced city.
The woman bent over bunches of bags
beside the galvanized can with chained lid,
her bare head and grey-string hair and open coat,
a sinkhole secretly waiting for love.
And you, bright blend of Tiny Tim and Zappa,
your rainbow tights, broomstick and bindle bag,
your white knee-socks and chimney-sweep hat,
clogging along sidewalks wet with light,
so full of love, spilling it all out like nard
at the feet of Christ—Christ how I love you.