Faith was the span that brought us
From speech to text, the tap root
That stored thoughts for us, our kind,
Our folk, in a dark, deep place
That was safe, that would last us
Through droughts and swarms, locked in earth,
More safe than one skull, more dense
Than a word, a tune, a dance,
A tale—all of them packed tight
In faith, food from the hard ground,
Rules stored back in the black soil
So far down they reached wet gods
At the start of things. Have faith.
Some day we will learn to read.
Friday, October 23, 2020
This Is How We’ve Done It; This Is How It Must Be Done
