Cast out the meandering spirit
Tugging my being into this black hole;
Leading me away from the reunion of body and mind.
I feel restless in this swerving insanity,
The dizzying concept that a home
Is a place that I can never find,
Though I’ve been building walls
Since the moment I was born.
At least the earth of my nature would ground me.
But I’m betrayed by my heart pounding out
A seeker’s freedom.
(Each beat is its own forlorn song)
And my feet searching for the soil that covered it
In my ancestor’s meaning.
(An autobiography of seeds and dust)
Journeying without a place to go,
I’m taking every little thing that glints in the sun’s eye:
That folds in the nights kiss,
That burns red like my marrow,
And the blood my brown skinned father shed,
Into clenched fist,
Into hungry mouth.
And it comes
As the ink dripping over,
The pockets picked and emptied,
The fist bruised and battered ,
A drumbeat’s mourning.
The thunder’s knowing reply
Pleads for me to wait
For this rain washed epic to be over.
I’m weary, waiting for the sky’s revival
I redistribute the longing until its arrival
We are all wanderers until we find the hidden way.