Saturday rides

Driving down the freeway,

I spy:

lost trash, 

weeds and stubble

and stained glass over concrete.

Stained glass in this case is made by the apathetic, the angry, and the poor in spirit,

who resort to expressing their souls through graffiti.

Through ugliness they ask us to read into their souls.

It doesn't quite work however.

You see,

especially at sunset on the freeway, or early morning,

I can see through the pale lines

and find a multi-dimensional beauty, acting like the lead,

of a forgotten frame.

The reds, the blues, shining purely.

Accidently mimicking the glass of a cathedral window

lost in downtown LA.

Riding under the concrete arches

of our strange industrial pathways

to our silver cities,

I wonder at the beauty hiding behind empty molecules.