A farmer plants his seeds knowing in time green stalks will rise. Bury your worries in the secret garden Herbs burst from soil, strong and unbaptized In time fall wind blows away all blooms Your children thrive in houses and streetsides. Each a thread woven in a street beggars’ looms. Our blood is mixed with your’s flowing and entwined as an ancient fermented wine these streams have flown born in eons before our own. Through thousands of lines Children, birds, & trees keep finding a different way to shine.
Stranger in a strange land. The Man Who Fell to Earth. Will I ever find a place that is home- which can contain these multitudes? “Have you forgotten? You are multitudes. You can never be contained in words or bodies, alone.”
There is a quaking in America. We rise to meet her palms faced up, Our children’s eyes open Breathing in this hard-won early morning. Eyes greeting the sun Glinted through these tears We look to see plant seeders filling out banquets of fields They stretch beyond a horizon in bursts of joy and exaltation.
