I was already wondering
why do we live the way we do
in a society where everyone,
anyone we encounter,
will have needs,
will want to feel the value
as anyone else who might want
the same things.
I kept hearing about love and flowers,
while watching the names scroll
across the evening news,
and then MLK and Bobby were dead.
I’m not really sure where the time
has gone so that today,
I stand here wondering if we have
made any changes to our lives at all.
We still know how to hate one another,
to load a burden of shame upon each
principled confession of humanity
we encounter on a given afternoon of days.
I sit among everyone that I have known,
there are simple avenues of memory,
and we each know the value of remembering
just when it was we began to feel fear.
I’m listening to Joan Baez in the background,
maybe Judy Collins later on, or Emmy Lou,
there’s a voice from my distant past reminds me
of that love thing we all seemed to grasp,
but only when tragedy spoke to our hearts
it was only then when we ripped apart our eyes,
and settled into a new way of thinking,
one that no longer contained the love of time.
Love of time rather than knowing the right time,
the moments that arise in our lives that compel
our souls to acknowledge the humanity of truth,
we are that lost beacon in the night extinguished.
Until the renovation, until the unearthing, until
somewhere in a time capsule we can see reality,
and once again, to know love is to feel our hearts
are an organic spokesperson for the beauty of love.