We Are of A Tribe

We plant seeds in the ground


And dreams in the sky,


Hoping that, someday,

the roots of one
 will meet the up-stretched limbs of the other.


It has not happened yet.


We share the sky, all of us, the whole world:


Together, we are a tribe of eyes that look upward,


Even as we stand on uncertain ground.


The earth beneath us moves, quiet and wild,


Its boundaries shifting,

its muscles wavering.


The dream of sky is indifferent to all this,

Impervious to borders, fences, reservations.


The sky is our common home, the place we all live.

There we are in the world together.

The dream of sky requires no passport.


Blue will not be fenced. Blue will not be a crime.

Look up. Stay awhile. Let your breathing slow.

Know that you always have a home here.