There is a bird
behind a door
before a door
waiting to be
and we allow it to wait.
it hurts to know
how it tires
flapping waiting wanting.

We are not creatures
enveloped in innocence
all the time, all the time.
We give wings to our ignorance
See the skies on this side
where clouds take shapes.
this is only weather
polluted
but, Sweet Climate, exist in me!

No love
breathes heavier
than that of the soul
And souls are seldom
raised, often sold
to the sky
where birds await their passions
and brave the storms
But beauty is born here
Where wind blows at the door.
Beauty manifests
once it finds poetry.

Click! Unbolted.

The poetry of a courtroom ruling
a child’s classroom
one woman on a bus
moving everything by refusing to move
the thousands marching on memorials to freedom
our common Constitution
sadly not yet our common constitution
The door is ajar. Heavy.
Keep breathing.
“The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind…”
Keep pushing.
“The answer is blowing in the wind.”