poetry

When I don’t know
What to do amidst racial atrocities
I ask the breath: where is now?

With birdsong flowing through these insubstantial ears,
The air on its wise feet touches
My skin and imprints the present moment.

Inside I turn to stone
Grinding through rough edges
Searching for the healing that water might bring

Only to find fluidity vaporize.
The surprise gift of here is a hummingbird
Soaring in whistle song upwards to its mate

In a twisting dance, and hence I realize a direction
Of warmth and caring, a strength like a rose
Grounded, responsible, awake.

Charles S Jasper
csjasper 6/13 & 14/20