Zion Poem by James Andrews
Zion
I stop the car behind the church.
Hear the fan, my ticking engine cooling
Comforts, fills the alternate of silence.
I stand before you all
And listen for the calls of birds.
My body aches.
I bend with more resistance
Than I did the year before.
With small, slight moves
I brush the stones and branches
From your faces.
The sun makes rivers of my hands.
Friday, September 20, 2013
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4/19/2024 12:59:43 AM # 1.0.0.1119
