—for
Michelle Marie
There
is no room for ambiguity in a patriot’s dream.
The
constitution of thought is a sacred text.
Alone,
defining the perimeters of this space,
She
talks to our eyes; nothing is held back.
To
walk in a new land we can only muse
On
the direction the sky has taken us.
Each
dark step makes the road longer than memory.
She
is the strength of a pine tree bending in the storm.
If
she is the solemn hymn of the flower arranger,
The
music is the hand held out to the child.
If
she is the power of the masseuse's hands,
It
is the arms offering shelter to those in need.
If
she was once the bartender pouring the final round,
Music
is the soup bowl offering hope to the homeless.
If
she is the metronome of the dancer’s last movement
It
is the archangel seeking justice for those who cannot fly.
Imagine
the piano’s pledge of allegiance to black & white keys.
No
segregation of sharp & flat; or everything in the key of C.
The
notes make words and find us wanting.
The
melody echoes in the forest, in the street.
We
need the nuances of the dark and the light
to
show us the way is infinitely more complex
&
vast than previously imagined.
There
is more to it than seizing what’s left of the night.
She
carries the burden of freedom forward.
In
the way light falls on the summits
We
learn there are more mountains to climb.
We
come to the beginning on solid ground,
Learn
anew how our feet measure the way.
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