poetry contest

among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
let me move slowly through the street
quietly, with reverance, in awe
tripping up, falling down
before the solemn bronze saint
one with you
brief on a flying night
over the river, on the hill
renew the vision of delight
see, from this counterfeit of him
they ask me where i've been
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
the body may confine