Wind lifts off the sea and touches

The land and the startled faces there

And the shifting sands of the quivering


A mother touches the small face of her

Newborn and her love is the first chapter

Of many more to follow.

Children reach out to explore the

Vastness about them and their busy

Fingers touch sunlight and shadow,

The softness of a pet’s fur, how

Shapes become the words of



In what became the land of the

Free and brave, indigenous people

And slaves freed or not have known

The touch of flame and noose

Even as the words of piety

Fade into hate and venom.

Whole neighborhoods razed

By the torch, mothers’ cries

For their lost ones unwritten

On the careful books of



The bullets spit their fire

Into the backs of the

Unwanted and knees

press with force against

Unprotected necks

Until all breath is gone.

So Many so many.




Hope and despair and anger

Seethe in such a world and

What is to be done.



Now the steps of marchers

Touch the blood bruised streets

And words shake free of old

Evasions enshrined in statuary

And a flag too long lofted

Above the intent believers.


Now is the time we say.

Now is the time.