At last the world leans the cobbled street
between Church and City Hall
in line with the sun.
The host of sparrows in the barren aralia vines
catches fire again, flickering and dancing so quick,
like a scaffolding of glad candles.
The forsythia hedge at the Mansion gate–
yesterday a row of tattered sticks,
today a bustling brass parade.
And we, the grey coated regular strangers
befriended by this old street,
drink the new light with our eyes and faces,
partaking maybe in the very beginning of time
when the sun first made the world
a thing that could be filled with joy.
David Passey works as a lawyer in New York City.Â He won the BYU Studies 2009 Annual Poetry Contest.