Find what way, you sing,
we each are made to catch and release
(like your tight cup of petals)
more, oh more, long-needed light
after all the torn, wounded
centuries under all those darkly wed
to themselves, to Self only, while we waited
while we wept and sang, dear tulip, we who
once lived lost in your beauty: we
are no longer so tender or weak
we hear and feel now the desperate red
whip of the ache of this time:
and together, just now possible:
together what we gather--syllable
brush stroke, bold note swelling
and sailing over and through--
what we make and gather enough
at last, an ocean against all rivers
dark and void, this ocean greater
gracing hands that open and release
image after image over the mass
graves and palaces of history and out onto
a dazzling plain (far, near) where finally
we walk, weaponless and unafraid.
from Edge by Edge, 2007
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