I remember the morning,
a glimpse between the leaves,
the meandering Pentecost express,
escaping the station at full steam.
From my breakfast window,
I was certain I could see,
where the Spirit came to rest,
to the left and down a bit;
hidden behind Old Man Howard’s tree.
Everyone in the car appeared to be blessed,
tongue-tied as if waking from a dream,
speaking to newly minted friends,
strangers noticed but till now, never seen.