death has been stalking the neighborhood
in such uncreative ways
but the Kingdom’s here, taquis and art
and children’s play are footprints in its wake
and you don’t have to squint, you don’t have to break pace,
to see resurrection every day
and looking around at the signs , there are hints here,
of some bit of yeast working away
there are foxes stalking the neighborhood
making more tracks than is strictly needed
minute details jotted into our palms and
hearts weaving them through like string
sprouts shout out, coming up from the ground,
so lets get that old oak out of the way
lets cut it down, and mulch it up,
and spread it through the garden in hope of what will grow in its place
We’re watering this garden with our tears,
but the salt helps it grow up from bulbs and sprout ears
and one day, we will know where those aquifers go
how they drained and filled us both
I walked on a wall, took a chance for a glance
and I balked and I crawled, before I stepped into the dance
I worried about the safety of this place
and so ashamed, I confess, my own racism shows it face
I’m just glad to get out of the sprawl
and remind myself its in Jerusalem where they kill the prophets
after all
Don't you think it's time
to give up on being safe in hope of being saved
Put your hand in mine
we'll put roots down in the place, trusting we'll see his face
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