Voice that will not be silenced,
unwavering as a tall tree rooted deep
beside the stream of living water.

“Strong in the Lord,” fingers touch
the lips of an unhoused Brother,
tongue, a Babel of consonants

hard as the city street, sidewalks
broken as the heart of Little Ones,
lost sheep meandering between

what street lamps still flicker
a code displacing shadows,
signaling the night watches

of shepherds–man and dog,
guardians of green pastures,
the stillness of cool waters

washing away fear coagulated
in alleys, overwhelming
the sirens of Darkness.

Fists unfold.
Palms cup fevered cheeks.