Coughing, he unlocks the iron-clad door, br and a flock of gold and silver keys br rises like an inverted pyramid br over his little kitchen for the poor. br br The gnarly, the disabled, weak of knees, br the drunk, the ugly, stoned and plain stupid br stand in the s hit and shadows of his doves, br sobered by the wrath of a cold breeze. br br Squinty-eyed himself, he is not blind br to avarice, nor to their push-and-shoves. br Holding a pipe in his yellow hand, br he touches with the fingers of his mind, br and watches those not even morning loves br enter and reenter the promised land.