beyond the blue dawn,
 the stop lights, houses, traffic–
 pink mountain sunrise
 
 it’s like their love poems–
 so cheesy; adolescent;
 (in their second tongue)
 
 Silverstein turned down
 so they could find their own muse
 and make my Wednesday
 
 they practice reading,
 words chopped by heavy accents;
 beautiful and sharp
 
 i can see clearly
 the pink peaks; hear soft words lost
 behind busy streets
 
 it’s the glimpse of hope
 caught in this lens, in their voices
 that’s worth stopping for