Cathedral

Mary Brunini McArdle

There came a vision in a vacant lot,
Close to a busy intersection:
An autumn accident of color.

Tall rows of golden maple trees,
Straight as a hundred steeples,
Stretched toward the boundless sky,

The border fronted by lush pampas grasses,
Their frothy blossoms pulsing
In the somber afternoon,
Like lanterns in a wayside church.

Go, find a way across
The crass, irreverent traffic
To worship in the fallen leaves.