And we do not know where we are going,
except to the sea,
this intimate cleft of wind-washed sand.
All around are signs the earth is wounded.
Wet sand like parched lips, eroded coasts
the footprints of a great extinct beast.
Lolling lilac waves, white foam, black
crests, clips of yellow are the whispers
of many mouths to a single ear.
We open our arms and lean in
to the wind and we are falling off
the earth’mdash;with everyone else it seems.
Yet we are here
under a plum sky
in unabashed love with each other
is another Tuesday.’ There is no reason
to feel otherwise.
Hoosier, Canadian, Afro, Connecticut lesbian’mdash;
family before and after history.
The four of us, our bodies so near,
brings Hope, a little closer,
from the stars, to the Capital,
to college students on a winnowing shore.
When there is a wound, instinct should demand healing.
When strangers touch two worlds are breached.
When I am with you, I am with a new reflection
The wind rocks us to the marrow,
imprinting a phrase, a tongue
into our cells.
We do not know where we are going
on a path too certain to name.