"Look Up"

In Gaza, some of us cannot completely die.
Every time a bomb falls, every time shrapnel hits our graves,
every time the rubble piles up on our heads,
we are awakened from our temporary death. ~ Mosab Abu Toha

Lives shattered under showers and skies of stone. What will be left after the appetites of power and war? Bend closer to the torso of trees. They will tell you how we are guilty for all of this. Why don't the me consult poets and music makers for a way to peace? Why do they not turn to the Mother?

The sky turns black with cold air. Snow falls in a way that looks like ash. The heat kicks on at 3 a.m. but I do not go back to sleep. Now is not the time for sleep. I think of the bartender in Austin who confessed in hushed tones that he was from Lebanon. He said, “it seems like I can trust you” . . . indicating some are not to be trusted. I wonder about the bright grace heating the upper branches of the tallest trees. Will he ever know it? Will any or all of us rise?

I cannot tell you about single tree I saw in Texas, though I know they must be there. Dust and drought yawn over the absence of tenderness. This cleft into which we all have fallen bends and turns as a maze, more vast than desert or dark. “Look up! Do you see the sunlight?”