That All, Everyone, Each in Being

Decades I have waited                to make sunlight 

for all of this to                             matter, a mark built to 

rest and a mark laid                     living. I am sworn 

to my worth even                         when the scales weep 

their own little swords,                slanting outside 

the song and full                          of soothing to speak each 

vowel. Everything                        happens toward its own 

making, an infinite                       becoming from all that 

is yet to be faced.                        When it seemed 

as though I had touched              the arm of love, 

little did I know,                            I had found a door 

with which to                                enter the sky. And to         

the sky, little did I                         know, the door would 

open for me. All,                          as it will be, as it should be, 

in effort of                                     The Great Balance. 

Five days ago, I stood                  under a flight of egrets, 

shifting between fenced               field of mud and factory 

yard. What could                          they have guessed of stability, 

a fairness of wings, restoring      what had always been 

theirs to have.                              Like them, I have 

steeped myself with                      others, for so long my roots 

sprouting from the cloud            of this fight, daring to follow 

where the arrow leads,                until it is my turn. 

Until now,                                     my turn.