My People

My people
don't look to faces
for their favorite color
They look to the earth's roof
or to its bed

My people
 never search for certain eyes
to find their favorite shape
they search the clouds
and they move the same
taking their time
getting to know it all
the air, the fire, the dirt, the water
and the life that sits itself
at the center of the elements
listening to chanting hearts
enchant the vibrant arts

My people
don't wave flags
to conquer territories
or mask their debt
 claiming to own
what God has loaned
they wave quilts
stitched from patches of kindness
slipped anonymously
over the years
through the mail slot of their door
and they return to sender
by tucking in
winter's dark and cold

My people
don't have one symbol
marked like graffiti on paper
smearing on hands
 exchanging it
for a larger pool
to fill their party
with diving greed.
They have a soul
shapeless and inkless
no keyhole to refuse what isn't its kind
no brand to iron you into a herd
just love rolling like a globe
on sincere words

My people
shake up the alphabet
like kindergarten partners
So U and I can hold hands
on a field trip together


My people
never drive a bulldozer
through an envious dream
they'll pat you at the ballpark
they will ask to join your team
and be a part of
what brought you safely home

My people
don't have a coast
or a time
 that suffocates in one zone
and to them
native is a foreign word
that plants itself in the way
of  harmony's breadth
We knock down the barricades

We don't line up to stand
in order of height or dollar
we move forever
side by side
our siamese friendships
 move forever
like a choir of deep oceans and high winds
moving the clouds to tears