*untitled

they say you walk
with the wind
the way trees dance to storms
and only birds
hold your arms
sincerely.
It’s true.
All I see is grey blue sky
through the square of my window
and that soundless
dance.

I was there
in the church with the grass floor
without the walls without
a white man.
My jacket sleeves covered in burrs
taking what died
to see it rise again in the spring.

Sometimes the sky is the hand
that touches the face gently
like ‘come here
into my vastness,’
before the sun
slaps the shit out of some pasty white boy.
The sun inspires me sometimes.