That Which the Swallows Bring to Mind


The peppered sky

chimes in the

key of swallows.

Arcing northward from

Central America, dual

citizens of the torn world,

though native to the unity.

Wonderful yet

I find myself

dispossessed of wonder.

Like the birds,

we all sleep under

bridges of one kind or

another. When the

core competency

of a culture is

strategic judgmentalism

many things go dark into

the mean and meaningless. The

routines set in, the procedures,

the long, slow death-drone of sameness.

The occasional lone hawk feathers up

a bit of mild novelty here and there, then

gets wing-clipped by

celebritism. Homeless in a cage.

If my faith was real,

I would abandon my

luxurious pursuit

of a mythopoetic identity

and go fetch water for the dying.

We are each and all

the dispossessed

if one child stands at

our gates


4 thoughts on “That Which the Swallows Bring to Mind

  1. A finely wrought prophetic witness. Against the sated denying the thirst…

    Jesus said, “I took my stand in the midst of the world, and in flesh I appeared to them. I found them all drunk, and I did not find any of them thirsty. My soul ached for the children of humanity, because they are blind in their hearts and do not see…
    – Gospel of Thomas 28

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