. . . In a time of troubles

There was a time when we knew
our connections
crisscrossing the luminous sky
the waters flowing through us
on their way home to the sea .

Was it a form of lovingkindness
even when we ate our enemies brains?

The shamen curanderos witches
traced the lines flowing through us
from worms in the living soil
out to constellated stars.

Our eyes focused softly
as we walked woodland trails
listening for a deer dance through dry leaves
praying appreciation for his gift to our family.

We knew we were our connections
remembering with lucid mushrooms,
cactus caps, and the venom of toads.

Families of Syrian migrants
trek along my vestigial wing
one dazed young man chanting
La il’allah il’aha
“Sorry bro,” I regret to say
“we’ve got no more room
in this vestigial heart.”

Look here!
May I be blest
to soothe these blistered feet!
May I be blest
to gaze into these wind-dried eyes!
May I be blest
to kiss these parched lips!

May I so welcome my new neighbor!