I am living inside this poem
Splinters of doubts are few
holy Sacred and profane Hungry
A two-headed creature stalking and
floating through the streets outside my house
Through canyons of stained glass, blood at our heels
Wading across rivers, through forests, over mountains, and deep into valleys

Roving through hamlets, villages, and towns

Two-headed creature
Half female and half male
One 400-year-old head exhaling its breath, smelling of dried Native and African blood picking out the flesh from between its teeth

Singing songs of resistance and freedom
Dreaming words of Malcolm and King
Sing

Songs of possibility
Say that we could be one under God
If we would just let the sun rise
Let the dawn flow into the day