Without a title, though.
Dedicated to/inspired by/for/because of/thanks to/etc: Allison, Shane, Isaiah, Micah, Flavia, Joe, John, Mike, Jesus Christ, and Africa.
My heart beats so big here.
It's like when everything seems like it could be a piece of your poem,
like swords turned to plowshares and
spears turned to pruning hooks.
So we'll plant a garden on the other side of the world,
we'll plant it with our hands and our fingers
and our eyes and noses and arms and legs.
We'll plant it with our sweat and our laughter,
with a passion that can turn water to wine.
My heart beats so big here.
It's like pink shoes I pretend are orange
and like getting sun when it's been awhile,
getting sun while picking tomatoes.
So we'll ride trains with Christmas-colored seats
and choose red,
and do whatever we can to emulate
that passion that can feed five thousand,
even from just one garden.
So I'll dream of catching the moon in that dandelion field
and of watching silver butterflies dance.
And we'll use our plowshares in our garden
full of carrots and full of
mushrooms full of nature,
and we'll wash them gently, lightly,
and hold everything loosely
Move.
Trust and move to where our hearts
beat so big.
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