you woman tree woman one

swaying to unheard of winds uninvented air streams

you woman sky with palms broad enough to hold eqypt

who taught me to walk

slow and deliberate

like i had somewhere to go

who taught me stories

that needed telling

to love men and women who needed

who taught me to fetch life

out of the depths of rivers

taught me the words

that the tree branches sang to wake

the sun and bring morning home

who taught me to love loving

with my eyes wide open

who taught me to dance and smile

in rhythm

to clap with an open heart

who will be the messenger of this land

count its veins

speak through the veins

translate the language of water

navigate the heels of lineage

who will carry this land in parcels

paper, linen, burlap

who will weep when it bleeds

and hardens

forgets to birth itself

who will be the messenger of this land

wrapping its stories carefully

in patois of creole, irish,

gullah, twe, tuscarora

stripping its trees for tea

and pleasure

who will help this land to

remember its birthdays, baptisms

weddings, funerals, its rituals

denials, disappointments

and sacrifices

who will be the messengers

of this land

harvesting its truths

bearing unleavened bread

burying mutilated crops beneath

its breasts

who will remember

to unbury the unborn seeds

that arrived

in captivity

shackled, folded,

bent, layered in its

bowels

we are their messengers

with singing hoes

and dancing plows

with fingers that snap

beans, arms that

raise corn, feet that

cover the dew falling from

okra, beans, tomatoes

we are these messengers

whose ears alone choose

which spices

whose eyes alone name

basil, nutmeg, fennel, ginger,

cardamom, sassafras

whose tongues alone carry

hemlock, blood root, valerian,

damiana, st. john’s wort

these roots that contain

its pleasures its languages its secrets

we are the messengers

new messengers

arriving as mutations of ourselves

we are these messengers

blue breath

red hands

singing a tree into dance

i heard your voice this morning

speaking from the foot of the bed

your quilt crawled to the

floor

as i lay down in the

first whisper of dawn.

i heard your voice this morning

the sound of cloth

a casual sound

a sunday morning

preparing to visit your lord

sound

half your life

half my life

half my daughter’s life

we all dream of landscapes

romantic deserts

white sands

connecting us together

a half dozen roses

i play out my life

listening every morning

for your voice

at the foot of the bed.