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It felt like crossing      
all things cross, right?

It has been many years since we have walked through that tunnel
and into this land
where the hands of spirits became the wings of ancestors over us
and the quiet inner gust became an orator of truth  

Truthteller could you tell me again my name
They have given me so many on the northern journey,
disguised me to be one of the multiple
flickering pixels on a television screen

eyes darker than their own
but who has darker eyes

She is the barefoot daughter of the Pachamama
womxn of many tongues
womxn whose tongue was not cut off
so you hear her sing when the sun comes up
and sway with the blades of grass
onward in the direction of the voices and the wind
and all the things that cry and laugh out loud  

They made you cross, too
and at the same time
But they made you forget
about the birds,
the wind,
your name- our name
and the alphabet
silence is the alphabet used to speak truth  

They made you forget your name.
Ask them your name as you look up at the sky
cloudy or clear
as  children lay silently next to demarcation lines
housed in steel bars
gloomy and lost
ask and listen
to be humbled by your name  

The spirits call again
can you hear them now?

back through the tunnel of innocence,
they whisper your name.
Can I wrap words,
clutter them around your hand
and make them press
warm and soft?

Could they be of value for you
like the gems people mine for
or the things they pick to be family heirlooms?

How deep is their deepness and
how far is their reach?

Can they feel Infinite like my existence  and finite like my life ?

Can they build a bed to lay on ?
Fabric, metal springs, foam, cushion, soft, plush, lifted, comfy, useful,
Can it be a good place to rest when it’s been a long

The wind blows and I am nervous over a hill,
where the grass is low but
lower is the water flowing

Keep in mind,quiet costs
the dry branches motion in the gust of time
slowly churning thoughts
over the eve of our crowing destiny
From that hilltop
I see them

The smell of Franciscan Manzanitas and bees
surrounds us

I thought they’d lost their way,
down the path where the ferns grow high
and the forest deepen enough to make most forget

But I saw them egress the woodland’s mouth
an abetment of hands cusping future
they giggled and where light
on their feet
enthroned to this field
they walked over the sharp blades of grass
there is no such thing as
the necessity makes it self known
coils its body
like a serpent
our consciousness burrowed for too long
in the ground

When I turn my head I see you, too
Do you see them ?

the crowned that have come
blinking their love for all things

it seems like we begin again or the fates will cut their strings
I laugh the way the earth giggles when it’s sure that
storms come in and out of the atmospheric frame at their due time

I laugh in joy that at least I still got enough soul to wake me up

That I got tenacity, and freshness of  lilies
to keep me
The wind in drift
the leaves rustling
The sounds of creeks
pouring like their water
into my ears

Here we are on the other side of the moat.
“Beware the lucid dreaming of the starved” they whisper

deep in the lagoon of your mind, cross the moat
this one is a wide ditch filled with empathy
This one is the one the one you hardly cross beyond

“Some things are obvious” they whisper

“I guess we’re all crossing the lagoon”  I say
Your finger twists the typer’s hand to squeeze out of their tongue the many truths

but they keep them in their pockets the prescripted speech that’s someone’s got their interests tied around
Like some money hanging off some pretty lady’s hips who wraps around a pole, that’s what clicks into place like the sound of an old vhs being pushed in and made to play, but you got the wrong tape
it’s a well dressed dude, making you feel bad that you ain’t as solid a consumer
as him
Ka-ching affluence
He’s got all the right signifiers
like a dog has got the right canine chow and the right collar to tell you someone owns him
because if he owned himself
you know he’d already found his worth
Her name is  like a fine diamond,
every which way the sun hits her
she shines
letting everyone know why with so much love
her mother laid her against her chest,
since small
and called her Crystal
"******" screamed the nasty Idaho boys
during the town celebration.

Aberdeen Days,
a fixture that seemed needed
to adorn a town's narrative
of property claim,
scattered people in a small town park
bunched them up in cliches
and incubated 'people among their own people'

"..." silence were the words she used.  Cage's 4'33

The Architectural Barriers Act of 1968
Mills v. Board of Education 1972
The Higher Education Act of 1972
The Americans with Disabilities Act 1990

Four butterflies fluttering over my aunt Berta
and my cousin Crystal's head  
ever radiant under the beams of the sun
words unable to dimish beauty  
as they walked across the lawn to join
Byron, nothing impeding her too
from walking in beauty
like the other girls in the park square
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