Blackbirds leave the wire
like so many needles abandoning
the seam.
We’re undone under
sniper laden skies,
a broken tale of light lacking direction.
Race baiting has us hooked,
lines sinking in our faces,
the barbarizing weight of bullets, ballots, and bawling.
I can’t get nearer my God to Thee
unless I get closer to you
and you and you to me.
Hate is the shortest of four letter words,
love, the most visible,
as it takes its place in line.
