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Sorrow walked in my clothes before I did. Flocksof shadows followed me. One night I looked at the starsI thought were gods until they disappeared. Some sayI smashed my father’s idols and walked away.Or walked towards a desert of barren promises.Or promises that are hummingbirds hovering fora moment then drifting away. Even now, walkingtowards that mountain, sometimes I will watchmy shadow sitting beneath a plane tree, casting dice,ignoring my steps. Some of you made me a founderbut it was only that shadow. Some of you made meyour father, but it was yourselves you were describing.You plant a tree, you dig a well, and it brings life,that’s all. Everything else is the heart’s mirage.Except what begins inside you. Except Sarah.When she stepped inside my dream the curtainsshivered, whole mountains entered the room.It always seemed a question of which love to honor.The land I loved fills with fire. Who should we listen to?It’s true, He offered the world and I offered onlymyself. But I thought His words were coffins. I wasfrantic for any scrap of shade. Now everything isshade. Your old newspapers are taken up by the windlike pairs of broken wings. Each window, each door isa wound. One track erases another track. One bomb.One rock, one rubber bullet. What can I tell you?Where have you left your own morning of promises?You remember Isaac, maybe Ishmael, but not the lovethat led me there. Not Sarah. Just to hear the soundof her eyelids opening, or her plants pushing the airaside as they reach for the sun, twilight fillingher fingers like fruit. This afternoon a flock of dovessettled on my porch. Their silence took the shapeof all I ever wanted to say. Today, the miracleyou want aches inside the trees. Why believeanything except what is unbelievable? I neverthought of it as a trial, not any of it. Now the leavesturn into messages that are simply impossible to read.The roots turn into roads as they break throughthe surface. How can I even know what I mean?Beneath the hem of night the rain falls asleepon the grass. We have to turn into each other.One heart inside the other’s heart. One love. One word.Inside us, our shadows will walk into water,the water will walk into the sky. Blind. Faithful.Inside us the music turns into a flock of birds.Theirs is a song whose promise we must believethe way the moon believes the earth, the fire believesthe wood, that is, for no reason, for no reason at all. ― Richard Jackson

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