i don’t have words to spill this life over into your lap
to shape with ee cadence the timbre of the street
to strut the interruptions and disruptions of a kingdom-journey for your reading pleasure
i don’t have words which paint a million pictures
or even one
i don’t have pictures which sing a million words
or even one.
i can’t string letters and intonations able to evoke the fears and despair i live into, die into, when i walk these streets of pain
i don’t have rhythms of language able to invoke the freedom and hopes i break into, breathe into, when i dance in these fields of gold
i can’t wrap words around me (or you) to cover the nakedness of the shadow
which shames between the motion and the act
i can’t sing lullabies which settle the heart locked-up or sooth the soul that holds the key
i can’t share names of the faces of the several-stories i’ve just shared that caught you unaware
i’ll see-saw you through this, your fingers like sieves, these words like sand
gunshots and giggles.
a bottle in a hand and a head-hung-low
and a hand on a bike and a sure-secure guide
both called mother.
blood-shot eyes and bright-eyed hopes.
destruction and chaos and a time to build and a time to heal
violence and a time to kill
sitting on a front step, laughter and shared meals, and a time to be born
darkandlightanddeathandlifeand a hundred irreconcilables waiting to coexist
so i’ll speak in riddles and spin tales in rhymes and
i’ll stumble with allusions
and know that He who sees, sees
and one day this dim reflection
will be understood
even as i am fully known.