sew it with threads of tumbleweed and twilight.
Then weave it into a net to catch the errant stars
as they cross from one no man’s land into another,
marking that liminal shore, where the voices of dreams
become tangible, where the ragged mouth of time
bends to its own vagaries. Tells us stories of the old ways.
A wall, where the past and the future merge
into a shoreline where it is always now. No borders.
Nothing is written in stone. The old stories of sand
at river mouths whisper a journey of unimagined time.
Let the river touch the sea until sea and sky become one.
Call off the coyotes and let the voices of the wind
travel through razor wire, and border crossings
unimpeded by politics and greed. We are all immigrants
traveling to one promised land or another.
Make it not a wailing wall. Make it a singing wall
filled with the wings of prayer rags, and the gods of hope,
where the vagaries of war smoldering on battlefields
and contested borders becomes a thing of the past,
where the politics of religion no longer divide us,
and we move free as the clouds on the horizon.
11/1/23 Write On! with Susie Terence
(I was channeling Padraig O Tuama’s collects.)
Published in June/July 24 issue of Sonoma County Peace Press
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