Sometimes I stop
and stare at rock formations
and gaze in wonder
at how they once lived
beneath the ocean.
We are all currently standing
between two rocks
where the grass grows uphill
and before us lies a revolutionary path
that branches off into dark shadows.
We have walked along this path
along with our ancestors, picking wildflowers of gloom
and dread. But do not be fooled—
This is not a Chinese proverb.
This isn’t about anywhere but right here, right now.
Our country is moving
towards its own truths of gloom,
and dread, and uncertainty—
its people are screaming, and crying,
I do not need to tell you
where this location is—
you can see it if you open your eyes
and listen to the wind.
Be still. Observe. And listen.
I won’t tell you
where the dark mossy oaks
meet the small strip of light
or where the ghost-ridden train tracks
meet an oceanic paradise.
We already know who wants to own it
who wants to buy it and knock all of it down—
the trees, the rocks, the wildflowers
to pave paradise
and make it all disappear.
I won’t tell you the location,
so why do I say anything at all?
Because you will still listen.
In times like this you must listen!
It’s necessary to talk about rock formations.