That Which the Swallows Bring to Mind

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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

unwelcome.

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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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