a literary journal published by the Black Earth Institute dedicated to re-forging the links between art and spirit, earth and society
the peahen – actually – is not so drab.
You wander fencings –
to turn soil – the immigrant
even when our own naming
is not part of any movement –
You remind yourself
of your luminous. Your eyes
joy – a dark grace
Resilience bristles iridescent – new
lands you dream. You cannot remember
of dreaming – an immigrant
Before feathers flare, a bent head
a way to strut if not to fly.