“Show them the waste
Of their watch.”
Take me from here to there.
Let the wind blow
my hair and the earth’s skin touch me.
Open me like broken bottles
that bear no drink
yet think themselves worthy of the trash man.
Open me to the clans from which I sprout.
Are they colors separated, cast apart
like memories of drunkenness?
Open me to Africa, Asia, America, Australia.
Open me like a package
of mystery left on your doorstep
in the sweetness of laughter.
Open me to the crudely made lens of love
that screams to be of human hands
Open me to the glance
that comforts strangers like the tender overture
of a mourning dove.
Is the wisdom of horses mine
Is the muscle of wolves
lawless or the healer of sheep?
Is the black opal of the eye
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