There are these times
that come and go
like barely realizable strobes of illumination
and between the on and off,
I see
how my future is interpreted by your past
in part
I see
how you are a storehouse with a lost key
without meaning to
food, wealth, understanding

while I starve
for truths.

But one of these days,
one of these days,
I shall break down this door
sealed by loss of memory
and call to testify
from out of the silo of your soul
every grain you’ve ever been


and you will sing again
our tribe’s songs
and you will teach again
how to read the map
these seven lines are
and you will instruct me
to follow the rivers in my veins
and tame them by name.




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